The Set Up
by Auldearn
Summary: Roger gets in trouble and Riggs is determined to get to the bottom of it all... UPDATE - Chapter 12 now up.
1. Chapter 1

Just got the director's cut box set and am suddenly overcome with the urge to write Lethal Weapon FanFiction. Such great characters and this category needs some more stories! So I decided to add... I also put one in Rated M, which is where some of my ideas will definitely end up but that rating kinda goes with the movies. Anyway check that one out too!

* * *

Oh, it HAD happened before in the past...not very often certainly, but it had happened a few times—although most people would have found it hard to believe. God knows that Captain Edward Murphy, hard-bitten veteran of the Los Angeles Police Department found it _VERY _hard to believe. It was a sight he had observed only a few times and it was the same as coming across Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster in your backyard. You were seeing it with your own two eyes and yet…your mind was telling you it had to be impossible.

The biggest part of the job of being Captain was dealing with all of the detectives under one's command. Every single one of them was different: different personalities, different methods of doing police work, different backgrounds, different lifestyles, different ways of handling the intense stress and pressure that came with being in the LAPD. Trying to bring them all together into a working, cohesive team that produced high quality results was often along the lines of trying to herd cats. Captain Murphy, however, was damn good at his job. He was an old hand; having been a cop so long he couldn't remember what it had been like as a civilian. Oh sure, his temper could get the better of him at times, but he had a reputation as firm, yet fair. One of the reasons he was so successful in his tense and anxiety-ridden position was his ability to work with all the detectives—no matter how they approached the job. Some needed discipline, some needed leeway—some needed a father figure. He had learned quickly how to read the personality of each man on his team and react accordingly. So when a detective didn't respond the way he was use to, the way that he had anticipated, had planned for…well, dammit, it really threw a monkey wrench into the cog that Murphy had so painstakingly greased over the years.

And now such a situation was before him. Murphy leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the desk, hands tented together. It wasn't easy, but he managed to keep the expression on his broad face noncommittal as he continued to stare at the detective sitting across from him. The seat's occupant, however, was not looking back. In fact, it was as if he wasn't in the room at all…

Oh, it HAD happened before in the past…not very often certainly, but it had happened a few times. The simple truth was that Detective Sergeant Martin Riggs was at a complete loss of words. No snappy comeback, no smart-assed comment, no yelling, no over-the-top, all-out psycho ranting and raving. It had now been over ten minutes since Captain Murphy had brought him into the office, sat him down and told him the news…ten minutes and not a peep. Not only had he not said a word, he hadn't even moved. It was as if he had been frozen in place. Quite frankly, it was all giving Murphy a severe case of the willies.

Finally he stirred… Riggs's head slowly raised, his steely blue gaze latching onto the supervisor.

"Where is he?" His voice was flat, barely audible.

"I sent him home."

The lids of Riggs's eyes lowered slightly as that familiar menacing glint began to reappear. It was like watching Frankenstein's monster being reanimated; the way the stillness slowly went out of him, replaced by such a concentrated form of intense energy that he had no choice but to explode. Because if he didn't, he surely would have burst apart at the seams like a balloon filled with too much air. And so explode he did. He shot out of the chair, the transformation back into his usual self complete. "This istotal BULLSHIT!"

Ah, yes…THIS was the reaction Murphy had been waiting on. He unfolded his hands, spreading them out onto the desktop. He never would have thought it, but he was actually glad to have Riggs storming all over his office, swearing, kicking at the chair, beating his fist on the desk. This, he knew how to handle. After all, a cop's life was filled with enough uncertain factors. It was always nice to have something you could rely on, even if it was the volatile temperament of Martin Riggs. Suddenly, Riggs sat back down in the chair but by the look on his face, Murphy knew he was ready to erupt again at the slightest provocation. Not that Murphy would give him any. Besides he could understand what the detective was feeling because he was feeling the same thing. Total BULLSHIT. He ran a hand through his thick shock of grey hair, his own expression livid.

"You know it's a lie."

Murphy looked up. The tone of Riggs's voice was edged with vehemence, his whole manner confrontational, as if he was daring the Captain to disagree with him. "Riggs," he said reassuringly, "you know I know that." He gestured with one hand, a look of frustrated helplessness drifting across his countenance. "But you also know that my hands are tied. I have no choice but to proceed this way."

Riggs exhaled softly, his whole body sagging downward. "You're right. I know. It's just…" He stood up again and stepped over to the window, staring out onto the busy street below. Another moment of silence passed before Riggs glanced over, mouth set into a determined line. "I'm going to check on him."

Murphy nodded.

Riggs was at the door of the office when he stopped abruptly, turning to the captain.

"And I_ AM_ going to get to the bottom of this."

The hard, unyielding look on his face left no doubt for Murphy that that was exactly what he was going to do. After all, this _WAS _Riggs. The faintest of a smile touched the corners of Murphy's mouth. "Martin, I expected nothing less."

* * *

Normally, Riggs busted through the side door of the Murtaugh residence like he'd been living there his whole life. Not that anyone minded because the fact of the matter was, in most ways Martin was part of the family— neither sides were quite sure what that relationship was… kind of a son, brother and crazy uncle all rolled into one—but still family and despite all the differences between Martin Riggs and the Murtaughs, somehow it all seemed to work. This time, however, Riggs found himself hesitating outside the door, his expression pensive, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. He peered in through the glass window of the kitchen door, but no one was in sight. After a long moment, he finally raised a fist, and knocked gently. No one came. After another minute had passed, Riggs rapped again, this time louder. He was about to knock a third time when Trish suddenly appeared from around the corner. A relieved look came to her face as she walked into the kitchen and gestured to Martin, who slipped inside. She came up to him, quickly encircling an arm around his waist in a quiet greeting, head buried against his shoulder. They stood there in silence until Trish finally broke free and turned away. "Do you want some coffee?" she asked.

"Sure."

Trish's voice was calm, but Riggs noticed the slight tremble to her hand as she grabbed a cup out of the cabinet. He took the filled mug with a grateful nod of his head. Pouring herself a cup, she sat down at the table, Martin joining her. They sat in silence, sipping their coffee, Riggs staring at Trish, hoping to get an idea of how to begin the conversation but her gaze stayed focused on the tabletop. Looked like he had no choice but to just plunge in. "Where's Rog? His car's not here."

Trish looked back up. "He went to the grocery store."

"The GROCERY STORE?" Riggs's tone was slightly incredulous. He gave a tiny smile, one hand rubbing across his chin. "Shit…I don't think that would be _MY_ reaction."

"No…I imagine not." Trish returned the smile but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh, Martin…" she whispered, the composed mask she had been wearing suddenly falling away. "I just can't believe this."

"I know, I know. It's SUCH a load of bullshit."

"What did the Captain tell you?"

Riggs frowned. "Not much really. Just that Roger had been accused of planting evidence on a couple of cases…that he was suspended until further notice." He gave a shake of his head. "That's all I know."

Trish nodded, a hand brushing away the tears that had begun to well up in her eyes. "Then I guess you know as much as I do."

Riggs looked surprised. "That's all he's told you?"

"Yes—" She stopped, her sentence interrupted by the sound of Roger's vehicle pulling into the driveway. Taking in a deep breath, Trish squared back her shoulders, hands knotted together tightly.

Martin glanced up, his head tilting in the direction of the door. "Maybe I should leave…"

Trish's eyes jumped upward, pinning Riggs with that look only she could give—one that was somehow deeply maternal and fierce all at the same time.

"Don't be ridiculous Martin," she said quietly, but firmly. "Stay here." Standing, she made her way back over to the coffee maker. "I don't know…maybe in this situation, it would be easier for Roger to talk to you first anyway."

Martin nodded his head. "Okay."

Trish was standing at the table, refilling their cups when the kitchen door swung open and in walked Roger, arms loaded down with groceries. He glanced over at the two, but said nothing, putting the bags down on the counter top. Turning around, he looked at his partner, his expression unreadable. "What are you doing here, Riggs?"

Martin gave a smile, lifting his cup. "Enjoying some coffee."

Frowning, Roger grabbed his own mug out of the cabinet, filling it to the brim. "Last time I checked they had coffee down at the bullpen." Riggs waved the comment away, his smile widening. "Hell, Rog, you know the only thing that shit's good for is cleaning out carburetors and dissolving rust stains." He straightened up in the chair, his demeanor turning serious. "Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing."

"How I'm DOING?" thundered Roger. Spinning on his heel, he faced Martin with narrowed eyes. "How the hell do you THINK I'm doing?" He gestured wildly with one hand, coffee spilling out onto the tiled floor. "I've just—" Roger bit off the rest of the sentence then quickly stormed out of the kitchen without another word.

Trish gave a low sigh, the sadness in her face coming back full force. "Martin," she whispered, one hand squeezing his forearm. "Please go and talk to him. I know you can get him to come around."

Riggs stared off in the direction that Roger had gone, his eyes doubtful. Although he didn't want to admit it, he wasn't as confident as Trish seemed to be. It certainly wasn't that he didn't want to help, he just wasn't sure that he could. Most of his experience was on the other end of such a situation with Roger trying to calm him down. Now that the tables seemed turned, he didn't know how to proceed. Turning back around in the chair, he met Trish's unwavering stare and she gave an encouraging nod of her head. Riggs still didn't look convinced but he stood up anyway and strode after his partner.

Roger was exactly where Riggs had figured he would be—in the workshop above the garage. Roger, God bless him, was a lot of things, but unpredictable wasn't one of them. Upon completion, the workshop had quickly turned into his sanctuary from the pressures of the job—a place he was able to escape to—a place to relax. He was now hunched over his workbench, screwdriver in hand, fiddling with his latest creation. His body stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps but he didn't bother to turn around. Martin hesitated briefly in the doorway, feeling suddenly like an intruder, but he set his jaw in determination and walked over. Looked over his partner's shoulder. "Hey, nice birdhouse, Rog."

"Thanks." Roger held the object up, eyeballing it critically. "Trish's been after me to make one for the backyard."

"I'd say you have a real talent for it."

Roger slammed the birdhouse onto the workbench. "Good thing," he said angrily, "since I'm gonna have to find some way to support my family."

"What?" Martin stared at his partner incredulously, arms flinging out to his side. "I can't believe I'm hearing this shit! Rog, you sound like you're giving up already."

"I'm not giving up, Martin," snapped Roger. "Alright? I'm just…I'm just—" he broke off and turned away. Began pacing back and forth, shaking his head. He finally came to a stop, staring at Riggs steadily. "I just find this all impossible to believe. I have over twenty-five years in this career. Over twenty-five damn years with a spotless reputation. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before." He sighed then sat down heavily in a nearby chair, shoulders sagging downward. "I haven't got a clue what to do next."

Martin nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He stood there regarding the other man for a long moment then grabbing a chair; he brought it over by Roger and sat down, straddling it backwards. "Then it's a good thing I'm your partner," he said matter-of-factly. Roger looked up. "Why is that?"

"Because I do know what to do next." Riggs gave a small shrug, his grin defiant. "It's no secret that my reputation is far from spotless—in fact, at this point, it pretty much looks like a Dalmatian." Roger gave a tiny smile in spite of himself. "Okay, Riggs…you could use a good steam-cleaning. So?" Riggs made an exasperated motion with his hands. "So…I can help." His eyes turned grim. "I've dealt with those soulless rat bastards at IA before."

A worried look suddenly flickered across Roger's face. He straightened up, one hand slicing through the air. "I—I don't know, Riggs. I don't think the answer is to bring MORE attention onto myself. I'm innocent and the truth is gonna come out."

"THE TRUTH?" spat Martin vehemently. He gave a disgusted growl, leaning in close to Roger. "Rog, you don't get it, do you? Those bastards wouldn't know the truth if it came bearing gifts and started humping them on the leg!" His voice and level of intensity crept up yet another notch. "For Christ's sake, if given the chancethey would convict Santa Claus of breaking and entering. They're like sharks in a feeding frenzy." An angry finger jabbed into the air for emphasis. "They will eat you for breakfast!" Roger hesitated, staring at him, trying to think of the best way to handle the situation. Despite what Riggs was saying, he still wasn't convinced he wanted his perpetually half-crazed and overly zealous partner off his leash or not. "So," he finally murmured, "what am I supposed to do?"

Martin took in a deep breath, exhaling sharply. His eyes were still blazing like white-hot fire, but he seemed to calm down a bit. "We need to be proactive, Cochise, not reactive." A faint smile suddenly broke through his clouded countenance like a ray of sunshine after a fierce thunderstorm. It was funny, but this was when he could feel the calmest—when things were at their craziest—when his mind was preoccupied with working out the details of a case, looking at all the angles, figuring out the best way to approach it. It was then that so many of the other things fell off the radar, mercifully disappearing from his view—at least for the time being. He gave an enthusiastic nod of his head, fingers drumming rapidly on the back of the chair. "We find out exactly what they seem to think they have on you, any evidence, who said what—the whole enchilada. And then we start our own investigation." Riggs's expression turned stone cold again. "Someone has obviously set you up to take a fall, Rog. We've gotta find out why." One hand ran through his dark hair as he shifted in his seat. "Look," he said quietly, "ya gotta tell me exactly what's going on—y' know…details."

His chair scrapping against the floor, Roger got up, going over to the workbench. He leaned against it, hands resting on top, his gaze focused inward. Neither of them said anything. Finally Roger looked over. "I've been charged with planting evidence…on three different cases." Riggs nodded encouragingly. "Okay. Which ones?"

"The first involved a series of home invasions right here in Glendale…another involved a couple named Haywood, they were killed in their jewelry store and then the last one was a case down in Newton, the vic was beat to death at a bus stop—real brutal stuff." A perplexed frown creased Martin's face. His arms crossed over his chest as one hand came up to rub across his jaw. "How come I don't remember any of these?"

"Because," replied Roger, "You didn't work any of them. It was after you'd been shot by Rudd. You were still in the hospital." Riggs grimaced, eyes darting away. "No wonder I don't remember…" There was a long pause before he finally turned back at Roger. "They partnered you with Alex Haven while I was on medical leave, right?"

"That's right. Both him and a patrol cop named Richard Dunn from Newton are the ones accusing me of this." Roger slammed an angry right fist into his left palm. "I just don't get it. I ended up working with Haven for a long time. He stayed with me almost the entire time that you were out. We got along fine—no problems at all…I thought he was really good—especially considering the circumstances." Roger's mouth pulled downward. "I mean…for a while there, the doctors didn't know if you were gonna make it or not. I was on constant edge…I could barely concentrate at work and I know I didn't pull my fair share." Another deep frown creased his forehead. "Alex seemed to take it all in stride though, really sympathetic. I'd cut out early, come in late…spend a lot of up at the hospital and he never had a problem with it. He said he understood." Roger sighed deeply. "I thought he was a stand-up kind of guy."

Martin nodded slowly, eyes staring off distantly. Looking over at him, Roger had the impression that although his partner was still seated in front of him, his mind was a million miles from where they sat in the workshop. Riggs suddenly gave his head a hard shake, as if to clear it. Looked back over at Roger. "What about this Dunn guy?"

"Don't know him at all," shrugged Roger.

Riggs rose to his feet. "Okay then, we've got a lot of work ahead of us. I guess we better get started."

"And here I thought being suspended at least meant I'd get a little vacation," grumbled Roger.

Grinning, Riggs clamped a supportive hand down on his shoulder. "Not with me around, Cochise."

* * *

The early morning had arrived gray, rainy and windy—the kind of day that the tourist office liked to promise never happened in Southern California. Although the sun had risen, it had proven ineffective against the storm clouds rolling in from the ocean. Shivering slightly in the misting rain, Riggs gathered the jacket he was wearing closer around him; fumbled in his pocket for some matches and quickly lit a smoke. He glanced about, taking in the surroundings—ever alert, as always. Other than a few joggers and a bum that was urinating into a nearby trashcan, he had the boardwalk to himself. At the sound of footsteps, he turned to his left, a small smile parting his lips as a figure approached.

"All right, Riggs," growled out a voice from beneath a hooded sweatshirt. "This better be good. I should still be curled up in bed right in the middle of my dream involving a hot tub and some Playboy Bunnies."

"Hmm…never had that one before." Riggs's smile widened into a grin. "But I did have this dream once involving a troop of trapeze artists and a monkey…" Another growl. "Y' know, Riggs, you really are insufferable."

"Yeah—put it in my file."

"Oh, I'm sure it's already in there. A million times over."

Reaching up, the man pulled back the hood, revealing the florid, sad- sack features of Mac Simmons. He was a veteran patrol cop with one of the longest service records around and one of Martin's oldest friends in LAPD--one of the few that stood by Riggs when others treated him like a pariah.

Many people were put off by his look—his facial features were molded by nature into an expression that was one of constant gloom and melancholy but in actuality, he was an eternal optimist. A happily married man with two well-adjusted adult children. He had a Zen like approach to the job that had never let the grime and shit from the streets attach to him. Unfortunately a far too unusual occurrence among the uniforms walking the beat.

"Look, I'm about to catch my death of pneumonia. Why in God's green earth did you drag me all the way out here this morning?" The man tightened the hood over his head again.

"I need your help."

Mac stared out at Riggs for a long moment, lips pursed tightly. "Sounds serious."

"It is."

A faint sigh issued out from the depths of the sweatshirt. "You're in trouble, Marty…?"

Riggs shook his head. "No, but my partner is." Reaching up, he patted Mac on the back. "Come on, I'll get us some breakfast and tell ya what's going on."

* * *

"Jesus…I don't know, Riggs…" Mac took a gulp of coffee, shaking his head. "What you're asking…"

Riggs nodded in agreement. "You're right—and I wouldn't ask if I weren't sure."

Mac didn't look convinced. "There's an unwritten law about this kinda stuff, Marty and I don't think I need to tell you that." He kept his head down as he toyed with the last remnants of the massive sausage and cheese omelet in front of him. "I mean…to investigate one of our own…" He finally raised his gaze upward. "I'm not one of those cockroaches from IAD…"

"Believe me, I know," murmured Riggs. "And the thought of bringing down an officer is not something I enjoy." He paused a moment, blowing thoughtfully over the top of his coffee cup, eyes focused outside. Then turned back to Mac. "But there is no other explanation. I don't know why he's doing this, but Dunn's lying and he's gonna ruin an innocent man. I can't let that happen." Riggs leaned in closer resting his elbows on the table. "That's why I'm talking to you." His voice was urgent. "Maybe there's some way that I can get the truth from Dunn without him losing his job. I'm willing to do whatever it takes, but I gotta clear Roger."

Grimacing, Mac's eyebrows collided together into one hairy line. Gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Dunn's well-liked enough at the station. Seems like a pretty straightforward kinda guy—never heard of anything bad. Kinda keeps to himself. He's partnered with Terrence Michaels."

"Yeah," nodded Riggs. "I remember Terrence. He was at Newton when I was there."

"Dunn's been working with him for about four and a half years now."

"Where was his training?"

"Rampart Division." Mac rubbed a hand along his jaw, his expression turning uncomfortable. "Look, Marty…I don't want you to take this the wrong way—really, but…" His voice trailed off.

"But what?"

"Look," the older man sighed. "You know what it's like on the streets. And the crap you hafta deal with has turned lotsa men before—" He hesitated, one finger tapping against the table top for emphasis, "—even ones like your partner."

Riggs frowned tensely, staring down into the depths of his cup as he swirled the liquid around. He knew, of course, that what Mac was saying was true. Especially in a big city like L.A. They worked ridiculous, long hours, their lives always on the line—and then after busting their hump, forgoing any semblance of a normal life, sustaining on bad take-out food and even worse coffee—most of the time, they ended up with nothing. Riggs had felt that frustration many times before, watching as someone he had collared get off—watching as a week later they were back on the streets, murdering, raping and selling their wares to ten year olds. You shoveled and shoveled and shoveled and yet, the shit never seemed to lessen. It was enough to tear down the strongest of men. Thinking back, Martin could distinctly recall several different cases where in a cold rage, he had done the very thing that Roger was being accused of. He had managed to stop himself, never going all the way through with it. In the end, he realized that even he didn't want to cross that line. That once that step had been made there was no going back. But Roger? His mind raced through so many of the cases that they had worked on over the years—all the times dependable steadfast Roger had been the voice of reason, pulling Martin back from doing something he would later regret—honest Roger who wouldn't even take that bastard Arjen Rudd's drug money…

He finally looked up, his face matter-of-fact. "No," he said with a determined shake of his head. "Not Roger. I'm telling ya, no way."

"Alright," Mac answered, satisfied. He smiled but his eyes remained grim. "I'll see what I can find out."


	2. Chapter 2

Here's some more... And I found some of my other stories that were on disc...lost and then found again... in case you're wondering I am a very disorganized person! Thanks for reading!

* * *

It was one of the most powerful cases of indecision that Roger Murtaugh could remember ever feeling. A strange sort of paralysis that kept him stuck to the seat, his limbs feeling as heavy and immobile as cement. For over an hour now, he had been sitting in his car, staring out at the modest ranch home down the block from where he was parked. Staring at Alex Haven's house. It was situated in one of those nice middle-class neighborhoods with clean streets, huge shade trees and flowers adorning all the yards. The kind of quiet neighborhood most people would be happy to call home. Alex Haven had been living in the same house for almost twenty years now and had put as much loving attention to it as Roger had done to his own. Like most people, home—for a policeman—was a refuge from the job. But when your job entailed dealing on a daily basis with the worst, most heinous things that people can do to each other, that refuge became an even more precious commodity. One that you worked intensely at to maintain and guarded fiercely. And even though Alex had recently retired from the police force, it was obvious that he still worked hard to keep his house pristine and orderly. Roger wasn't sure why he had come here or what exactly he planned on doing. Hell, he didn't even really remember the drive over. It was certainly unlike him to act so erratically—without a plan, without thinking things through clearly before hand. Normally he left that kind of behavior to his impulsive partner. And while that reckless way of going through life didn't seem to bother Riggs, Roger was not the least bit happy that he was following the same path. In fact, it affected him greatly—and yet, he seemed unable to stop himself.

He stared out the front windshield, watching with narrowed eyes as Alex Haven continued working in the flowerbed along the front of the house, his back to Roger—the same place he had been for thirty minutes—transplanting several flats of greenery into the dirt. Gritting his teeth, Roger suddenly threw the car door open and stepped out onto the street. His stride was slow but deliberate as he made his way down the sidewalk and as he reached Haven's mailbox, the former detective finally turned around. Squinting, Haven raised a flattened hand, shielding his eyes from the bright sun—staring out to see who was approaching. His eyes widened as he recognized the figure heading towards him and he jerked quickly to his feet, the trowel he had been holding clattering to the driveway. He said nothing as Roger came to a stop in front of him. They stared at each other for a beat and then Roger leaned over and picked up the small shovel then gestured for the other man to take it. "You dropped this."

"Th—thanks…" He hesitated briefly, and then reaching out, took the tool. "Look," Alex mumbled, "we—we shouldn't be talking. IAD says—"

"Screw IAD." Roger's voice was quiet, calm. "This is between you and me."

Alex stared at the tall figure before him, beads of sweat popping out across his upper lip. He wiped a hand across his forehead, eyes flickering away nervously. "Roger, we don't have anything to talk about. I said everything that I needed to say to IA."

"Everything but THE TRUTH!" Roger spat the last word out in disgust and fury. It took a great deal for Roger Murtaugh to truly become enraged but he could feel that emotion welling up inside of him now, coursing through his veins like some kind of illicit drug—threatening to overtake every aspect of his being. His hands curled up tightly as he fought the urge to physically hurt Alex Haven—not just to punch him but to beat him into a bloody pulp. Instead he turned away, taking in a deep breath as he shook the anger out of his fists. When he faced Haven again, the retired detective was still standing there, anxiously shifting the trowel from one hand to the other, chewing on his bottom lip.

Roger sighed. "I don't understand, Alex. Why are you doing this?"

"I—I'm not doing anything—"

"You're lying!" Although, Roger's voice had raised an octave, he kept his facial expression composed. "You know it and I know it. I never planted any evidence. Why are you setting me up like this? Why?" There was a touch of sadness in Roger's tone. "I thought you were a good guy. And now you are about to destroy my career—a career I've worked hard at, that I've been proud of…" Roger hesitated, watching as conflicting emotions played out across Alex Haven's face until fear won out over all the others—a deep fear that became firmly etched in place. Roger frowned. "What's going on? What are you afraid of, Alex?"

"N—n—nothing…" he stammered.

"No…" murmured Roger, eyes turning thoughtful. "Someone has gotten to you—made you do this…" He placed a hand on the other man's forearm. "Tell me—I can help."

"NOTHING is going on!" Haven wrenched his arm from Roger's grasp and turning, rushed up the sidewalk towards his house. "Just get out of here! You need to leave!"

Roger ran after him but Haven slipped inside before Roger could get there. Alex turned, staring out from behind the cracked door, his face pleading. "I'm sorry, Roger. Really I am."

Roger swore he saw tears in the man's eyes as he shook his head. "Please—just go away."

And with that the door slammed shut.

* * *

MacCaskey looked up from his desk at the sound of footsteps quickly entering the squad room. A quiet sigh escaped from him as he watched Riggs charge in without a word and throw himself into his chair. After slamming a few drawers and muttering under his breath, Riggs grabbed one of the looming stacks of paperwork that was resting on his desktop and proceeded to flip through it. Even from across the bullpen, it was easy to see that his mood was thunderous. So bad, in fact, MacCaskey swore that if he squinted his eyes just so—he could actually see the black clouds hanging over the detective's head. It had been four weeks now since Murtaugh had been suspended and Riggs's disposition was deteriorating at a rapid pace—having reached the point where many in the Robbery/Homicide Division were going out of their way to avoid the temperamental detective. A number of the other investigators, spearheaded by Joe Mitchell, were muttering about forcing a transfer back to Narcotics and with every passing day, MacCaskey knew more and more detectives were going over to Mitchell's side. Riggs's moods had always been volatile and Roger seemed the only one who could talk him down or pull him out of a funk—whichever one was needed at the time—and now that he was gone, there was no one capable of keeping Riggs on an even keel. 

A few of the detectives glanced at each other, various headshakes and frowns being passed from one to the next, but MacCaskey ignored them. He had already been approached about their plan to go to Captain Murphy in hopes of having Riggs bounced back to Dope, but had refused to participate. Riggs was already labeled a troublemaker by the upper brass and MacCaskey knew that yet another imposed transfer would only strengthen any case against him. And the simple fact of the matter was; despite Riggs's hard edges—MacCaskey genuinely liked the man.

Riggs suddenly jumped to his feet, mug in hand. As he passed MacCaskey's desk, he acknowledged him with a nod of his head—a quick terse motion—and then went to the coffee station. He stood there, filling his cup, still not having spoken to anyone. The silence that surrounded him was filled with such a tension that the whole room felt foreboding—like that heavy feeling one sensed right before a storm. Deciding to brave the elements, MacCaskey got up and joined Riggs, who finished with the coffee, handed the pot over to him. "Thanks." He cleared his throat. "Hey, look, Martin—I've got that report you were looking for on the Whitworth case. I've got some free time if ya want to go over it now."

Martin nodded again. "Yeah, sure thing." He glanced away, his attention focused on the sudden ringing of his phone. Jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Let me grab that and then we'll start."

"Alright."

The two men walked back and MacCaskey slid into his chair as Martin reached his desk and looked down at the phone. An inside extension was blinking back at him as he picked up the receiver.

"Riggs." He was silent for a minute as the person on the other end talked—then gave a shake of his head. "God, can't it wait? I'm drowning in work. What's so damn important that Murphy needs to see me right now?"

At the mention of the captain's name, several curious heads popped up, eyes furtively taking in Riggs. He didn't seem to notice the attention; his own eyes focused downward, one hand absent-mindedly tapping a pencil against the desktop. "Okay," he sighed, momentarily defeated. "I'll be right there." He hung up the phone, looking over at MacCaskey. "I gotta go see the captain first."

The other detective nodded slowly, working to keep his expression casual. "Say what he wanted?"

"Nah," Riggs muttered, irritation seeping back into his voice. "His hemorrhoids are probably bothering him again and he's looking to take it out on someone—lucky me."

A few minutes after Martin disappeared down the hall, the silence in the squad room was broken by a sudden low laughter. MacCaskey turned around, looking at the source. Joe Mitchell was standing by the fax machine, shoulders shaking in amusement. "Well, boys and girls," he said with a smirk. "Maybe we're about to finally get rid of our problem."

MacCaskey frowned, anger welling up inside of him at the sound of glee in Mitchell's tone. "Why the hell don't you just leave him alone?" He gave a shake of his head. "After all, he's shown a lot of restraint with you…I'm amazed he hasn't shoved your head up your ass yet."

Mitchell stiffened, eyes glaring. "Riggs doesn't scare me," he muttered with false bravado.

A loud snort from MacCaskey. "Yeah…right."

"I don't know why you're getting so worked up anyway. Riggs wouldn't even be in this department if the brass hadn't of decided to use us as a goddamn babysitter. He's still be doing what he liked— running undercover over in Dope. I'm doing him a favor by sending him back."

Crossing his arms over his chest, MacCaskey leaned back in his chair, staring intently at the other detective for a long minute. Gave a scowl as he turned back to his computer screen. "Y' know, Mitchell," he said with conviction, "you really are an asshole."

* * *

"I hope this is good, Captain," grumped Riggs. "I'm so busy I haven't even had a chance to eat lunch yet." 

Murphy looked up to find the detective standing at the threshold to his office, hip cocked to one side, an irritated look on his face. Murphy sighed. "Sit down, Riggs—" he said, motioning him in with a wave, "—and shut the door."

Riggs hesitated, one hand resting on the doorknob, his eyes narrowing at the other man's tone. He finally stepped in, closing the door behind him and sat down across from Murphy. "Has something happened with Roger's case?" He shifted nervously in his chair, afraid of what the answer might be. But the captain gave a quick shake of his head.

"No—not as far as I know anyway."

"Well why hasn't IA interviewed me yet?"

"What are you talking about?"

Martin leaned forward, his hands making a frustrated gesture. "I've been his partner for a long time. I know him better than anyone else in the department!" His jaw tightened angrily. "They should be talking to me!"

"When they want to talk with you I am sure they will let you know." The captain rolled his tensed up shoulders. "Besides Riggs, you didn't work any of the cases in question. Hell, you weren't even conscious when Roger started on some of them. What insight could you possibly offer?"

"As a damn character witness! Those bastards are try—"

"Riggs, stop it!" Murphy's voice thundered in the small office, silencing Riggs in mid sentence. "I know that you're upset. We're all upset. But you jumping down IA's throat is not going to help Roger any." Murphy frowned, fingers massaging his temples in a desperate attempt to assuage his pounding headache. When he looked back up, his expression was calmer. "Look," he said sincerely, "I don't like this anymore than you do. My best homicide team has been split up"—his voice began to rise in frustration—"an innocent man's career could be heading for the shitter, the whole department is freaking out and I've got IAD so far up my ass, I'm gonna need a goddamn proctologist to get rid of 'em!"

Murphy paused, eyes glancing away for a moment before focusing back on the detective in front of him. "IAD has their own way of doing things, and they sure as shit don't share anything with me. Besides," he murmured, "Roger's suspension is not why I need to talk to you."

Riggs felt his body tense back up. There was that tone again. And he had a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to like what followed. "What's going on?"

Taking in a deep breath, Murphy regarded Riggs steadily, his mouth grim. "Well, for one thing, you're falling way behind with your caseload."

"Come on, Captain," groaned Riggs as he rolled his eyes. "I'm doing the work of two people right now! What do you expect?"

"What I expect," Murphy replied, pointedly, "is for you to start concentrating on legitimate work, not spend all day conducting your own investigation on IA's case against Murtaugh."

A dark look suddenly flashed in Riggs's eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, lips thinning into an angry slash. "I don't know what you—"

"Don't even go there, Riggs." Captain Murphy drummed his fingers against the desk, shaking his head as if he were disciplining a child. "We both know what you're up to…I'm not telling you to stop—not that you would listen anyway—but you can't let your other duties slide." He pointed a stern finger in Riggs's direction. "Your cases are very important. Those victims were someone's family and you have a responsibility to solve what happened." He paused briefly. "I would think that you of all people could appreciate that."

Martin stiffened in his chair. Glanced downward, hands rubbing against his jeans in an agitated motion. "I do," he muttered, his voice thick. "I do." Riggs looked back up. "I—I'll make sure nothing gets shortchanged."

Captain Murphy nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but Riggs suddenly jumped in. "What about giving a few of my cases to someone else—or maybe having O'Neil help me out temporarily? After all his partner is out on medical leave right now."

An uncomfortable expression clouded the captain's face. "Yes—well…that brings us to my next point."

"Which is?"

"Which is about having someone else partnered with you…" Murphy's voice trailed off, eyes sliding down to the desk evasively.

Riggs stared at his supervisor, waiting silently when suddenly his perplexed look hardened into an angry scowl. "Let me guess," he said sharply. "You already talked to him—and he doesn't want to work with me."

Murphy didn't answer but then he didn't have to—the look on his face was all the answer that Riggs needed. Riggs gave a shake of his head, both hands curled tightly around the chair's armrests. "I don't believe this…" He stood suddenly, pacing in front of Murphy's desk, his expression growing angrier by the minute. "I've bled for this department. I think I've proven myself over and over again. What the hell is the problem with these people?"

Murphy frowned. "Come on, Riggs—think about it."

"What? I mean, maybe I'm a little intense—"

"A LITTLE intense?" The captain stared at him incredulously. "That's the understatement of the century."

Riggs glared back defiantly, that usual stubborn glint in his eyes. "If they can't deal with the way that I am, that's their problem."

"No…" corrected Murphy, "actually it's MY problem—and it's a problem that I don't need… especially right now." The captain rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Look," he said, his voice concerned. "I know that you're dealing with a lot right now and I'm not trying to add to that, trust me. But I also have a department to run and…" His sentence trailed off as Riggs turned back to face him. "The fact of the matter is," Murphy continued, "this situation has gone beyond just O'Neil not wanting to work with you."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is…a few—not all—but a few of the detectives have been in here demanding a transfer—wanting me to have you sent back to Narcotics."

Riggs stopped his pacing—staring blank-eyed at his supervisor for what seemed forever, his face expressionless—the only hint of emotion coming through with a sudden twitch of his mouth. "I see," he murmured in a quiet voice.

The captain sat behind his desk, waiting for another raging explosion or at the very least a colorful and imaginative barrage of expletives—but neither was forthcoming. Instead Riggs did nothing more than give a casual shrug of his shoulders. "That's fine by me," he muttered, his eyes glacier cold. "If Roger isn't my partner, you can go ahead and put in that transfer—I don't want to be here."

Before Captain Murphy even had a chance to respond, Riggs turned and left his office, slamming the door behind him.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Riggs poked dubiously with a pair of tongs at the hotdog spinning around on its holder. No doubt about it, he thought to himself. Obviously a relic from the Mesozoic Era. In fact, judging from appearances, it was a good chance that this very hotdog was around at the downfall of the mighty dinosaurs. But when you were getting dinner at the nearby 7-11, one couldn't be too choosy. He grabbed three of the petrified wieners off the carousel, sliding them into the hard buns that had been in the warmer since six that morning. Putting them into their Styrofoam containers, he dumped several helpings of chili, onions and cheese over the top then made his way over to the cooler section. Grabbed a twelve-pack. Heading to the register, he snagged a bag of chips and placed it along with the beer and his mummified dinner on the counter, waiting silently as the bored clerk quit picking his nose long enough to ring up the items.

He had just stepped back into the parking lot when his cell began ringing. Fumbling with the bags, he quickly placed them on the truck's hood and brought the phone to his ear. "Riggs." He sat there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the caller, the color draining from his face. He gave a disbelieving shake of his head. "Y-you have got to be shitting me." Another pause. "When did this happen? —alright…give me the address." Riggs frowned. "No, dammit, I'm going over and I don't give a fuck what anyone has to say about it. Come on, MacCaskey…what difference does it make? I'd find out anyway." Riggs nodded in relief. "Okay…thanks. I owe you." He disconnected the call, threw the bags into the truck and roared off. Looked like the beer and dinner would have to wait.

* * *

It had taken nearly two hours, but Roger finally found the box he was looking for in the far back of the hall closet. It had at some point, been buried beneath camping gear and a bag of clothes earmarked for the Salvation Army. Dragging it out, he tucked the object gingerly under one arm and headed back up to his hobby room. Luckily, the kids were at various functions on this Wednesday evening and the house was quiet. After dinner, Roger had retired to the shop, leaving Trish to read her book. Roger knew she wasn't happy about him spending so much time alone, but she hadn't argued. The last few days had seemed especially hard to him. And although Riggs was still determined that they would solve what was going on, Roger had felt his resolve begin to fade away. Instead, he was filled with a quiet desperation that was starting to sap his strength and any hope that he would ever be allowed back to his job. Now here he was—basically unemployed, morose and a little tipsy from the beers he had been drinking. Once he made it back to the hobby room, Roger sat down at the small table and dumped the contents of the box out in front of him. He was so focused on his task that he didn't even realize when his partner entered the room. Riggs stood at the doorway for a moment, frowning slightly in bewilderment as he noticed Roger's dress uniform hanging over by the workbench. He stared at the uniform and then at Roger, hunched over the table.

"Eh-hem."

Roger jumped hard at the sound of Riggs clearing his throat, head jerking upwards—his expression relaxing as he saw who was standing before him. "Riggs…"

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." Martin gestured behind him. "Trish said to come on up."

"No problem." Roger yawned, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it anyway?"

"10:30"

"Damn…10:30 already…"

"I'm sorry I came over so late. I—I was just finishing up."

"It's alright." Standing, Roger went over to the small fridge set up in the corner. Fished out a couple of bottles. "Wanna beer?"

"LOVE one," sighed Riggs eagerly.

A tiny smile came to Roger as he handed the beer over. "Rough day?"

Martin shrugged, staring down at the bottle as he opened it. "Oh…murder, rape and mayhem… Y 'know, just another typical day in sunny Southern California." He cleared his throat, looking like he wanted to change the subject. Gave a jerk of his head. "What are your dress blues out for?"

"Oh, that…" Roger's mouth thinned as he glanced over in its direction. "I was…uhmm…" He hitched his shoulders. "Y 'know, just looking it over…hadn't had it out in awhile."

"I'd say that's good." Riggs took a long swallow of beer. "Seems like the only time I'm wearing the goddamn thing is for departmental funerals." He gave an involuntary shudder.

"Yeah, man…you're right, you're right." Roger sighed deeply. "I guess I'm just—I don't know… going over what little I have left of my career."

"Hmmm…" Martin decided not to make a comment about his partner being a touch melodramatic as he pointed over at the table. "Is that what you were doing over there?"

"Yeah. Looking at old pictures—shit like that."

"Really? Pictures of what?"

Roger walked over to the table, motioning for Riggs to follow. "Y 'know—pictures from when I was at the Academy, just starting out on patrol..." He glanced over. "Don't you have pictures like that?"

"Well…maybe a few," Riggs said with a shrug. "I'm not into that kind of thing, I guess."

Roger sat back down at the table, Riggs looking over one shoulder when he suddenly burst into laughter, grabbing a photo. "Holy shit, Rog!" Martin exclaimed, laughing so hard he could barely speak. "This sure as hell wasn't at the Academy. Check out that 'fro, man! And the kick-ass threads! Those bell-bottoms must be a yard wide!"

Roger scowled as he tried to snatch the photo back but Riggs was having none of that. Easily avoiding Roger's grab, he jumped to the side, still hooting with laughter. "Oh, I don't think so, Rog." He held the photo aloft, eyeballing it. "Yes sirree…this is one photograph that should come in _VERY_ handy some day."

"Damn it, Riggs! I was helping out Vice at the time, all right? Just give it back!"

Chuckling under his breath, Riggs quickly shoved the photo down the front of his jeans. "Well, Huggy Bear, if you're willing to come and get it…"

Roger gave a disgusted shake of his head. "No thanks, _good buddy_."

Reaching over, Martin gave Roger a consolatory pat on the shoulder. "Now, now. It's very important not to lose one's sense of humor at a time like this." Pulling up a nearby chair, he sat down at the table. Pointed at another picture. "Hey, here you are at graduation."

"That's right."

"Damn, look at how skinny you were."

"What are you talking about?" Roger questioned indignantly. "I'm still practically the same weight."

Riggs gave a snigger, eyes rolling. "Uh, yeah…that's what I meant to say."

"Goddamn it all, Riggs. Sometimes I don't know why I even bother with you."

"Yeah." Martin gave an understanding nod of his head, his eyes shifting downward. His voice had grown quiet. "That seems to be the general consensus."

Roger fixed a steady gaze on him for a long moment before speaking. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ah, nothing." Desperate to change the subject, Riggs quickly gave his empty bottle a shake. "What ya got to do for another drink around here?"

"Sorry—forgot who I was dealing with." Roger grabbed another beer. After giving it to Riggs, he leaned back in his chair, one hand shuffling through the photos spread out before him. Looked back up, his eyes thoughtful. "Martin, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"I was curious about something…why did you decide to become a cop?"

"That's easy. I learned in the army—girls dig a guy in uniform." Martin's expression was deadly serious, but his voice was grinning. "Well, that and the great dental plan."

Roger exhaled loudly, shaking his head in total exasperation. "Can't you be serious for once?"

Riggs eyes widened. "Are you kidding?" He threw one hand up in the air. "Trust me, Rog. Being serious would be extremely damaging to my mental health. And we all know what shaky ground it's on already."

Roger gave a small grin. "Don't worry—I'll take full responsibility for the consequences of any breakdown you may have from giving me a serious answer."

"How comforting," Martin replied dryly.

"It's not a difficult question. I don't understand why you can't answer it."

Riggs drained most of his second beer in one swallow. "What about you? Why did you want to become a cop?" He pointed a finger in Roger's direction. "I bet you wanted to be one from the time you were a little kid, didn't you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Didn't you?"

"Nope," Martin murmured with a shake of his head.

Roger waited for Riggs to clarify, but when it was obvious no further explanation would be forthcoming from his reticent partner, he sighed and continued. "When I was growing up, there wasn't much for black cops—hell, usually all I ever saw were white cops beating up on blacks. My father was one of the earliest black officers on the force in New Orleans." He stopped for a moment, a wistful smile on his face. "I was so proud of what he had accomplished and I wanted to be just like him. So, yeah, more than anything, I wanted to be a cop." Roger leaned over, elbows against the tabletop, resting his chin in his palms. "And now this…"

Martin gave a stubborn headshake. "Don't give up on me, man. Not yet anyways."

"I'm trying."

"Good."

Roger frowned at the odd tone that suddenly underlined Riggs's voice. He tilted his head, staring at his partner, but Martin quickly looked away. "I need another brewski," he mumbled. "Want one?"

"No, I'm okay." Roger's gaze followed Riggs as he went to the refrigerator. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" Still not meeting Roger's eyes, Riggs opened his beer and tossed the bottle cap across the room into the trashcan. "Riggs…?"

"Okay, okay." He came back over, sitting down across from Roger. Gave a deep sigh. "Ah, shit," he said, his expression uncomfortable. "I've got some bad news."

"What is it?"

Riggs paused. "Alex Haven is dead."

"WHAT?" Roger bolted upright, knocking his chair backwards to the ground. "Oh my god," he said in an alarmed voice, eyes wide. "Oh my god…oh my god…"

Martin jumped to his feet, grabbing Roger by the forearm. "Stay calm, man."

"Stay calm?" Roger jerked away from Riggs, pacing nervously. "Wh—what happened?"

"His wife found him dead at their home this afternoon—an apparent suicide."

Roger stopped in mid-stride, looking back over at Martin. "Apparent?"

"Well…considering the circumstances, Haven's involvement in this case and all…SID and the ME are really going over everything with a fine toothed comb."

"They don't think…" Roger's voice trailed off as he saw the expression on the younger man's face. Martin anxiously rolled the beer bottle between his hands. Looked at the floor, then looked back up.

"IA wanted to come and get you this evening, but I managed to hold them off. You need to go downtown first thing tomorrow morning for questioning."

Sucking in a quivering breath, Roger sat down heavily, cradling his head in his hands. "I can't believe this…He's really dead…?"

Riggs nodded. "I went to the scene myself."

"How did he die?"

"He…he shot himself in the head." A sigh. "Shotgun in the mouth…It was a real fucking mess but they were quick to make a positive ID from his prints." Martin paused for a moment. "No question about it—it was Haven." Leaning down, Riggs picked up the overturned chair and sat back down across from Roger. "Can you verify your whereabouts for this afternoon?"

Roger's head jerked up, his mouth pulling downward. "You don't think I—"

"Good god, of course not. I just want to know what we're up against when you see IA tomorrow. So where were you today?"  
Roger ran a hand across his forehead, his gaze shifting from side to side in panic. "Martin," he said slowly, "I—I was at Alex's."

Riggs smiled tightly. "Okay, Rog. I know I told you not to lose your sense of humor but that joke's not even funny."

"I'm not joking," murmured Roger, the expression on his face growing fearful. "I went there."

Riggs stared at Roger silently for a second. Standing up, he walked over to the other side of the room and stared out the window overlooking the Murtaugh's driveway. Finally gave a bewildered shake of his head. "Jesus, Rog…what were you thinking!"

"I—I don't know," stammered Roger. "I just wanted to talk with him. If I just had the chance, I thought that maybe I could convince him to tell the truth." He sighed. "It was a crazy idea, I know."

"Crazy?" Riggs turned back around to face his partner. "Hell, it sounds like something I would do."

A small groaned escaped from Roger. "Like I said—crazy." He paused for a second, his brow furrowing. "But I did find out something, Martin. Alex was scared."

"Scared?"

Standing up, Roger went over to the window, standing by his partner's side. "Yeah. I couldn't get anything out of him, but I know that he was coerced into making those statements. I could tell. Someone was threatening him, forcing him into it." He rubbed a hand over his forehead, his expression turning frustrated. "I just don't know who or why."

"Alright." Riggs nodded slowly, eyes focused away, one hand rubbing his chin. "We'll figure out who it is, Rog. I promise. I just hope…" His voice trailed off.

"You hope what?"

"I just hope that Alex Haven was so riddled with guilt that he decided to off himself and not the other possibility."

"Which is?"

"Which is that the person behind this thought Haven might back out and…"

"And had him killed," finished Roger.

"Right. Because if this turns out to be a murder—IAD is gonna have a field day."

"Yeah," muttered Roger, "and they're gonna use me as the kick ball."

"You got that right." Riggs finished his beer. Glanced down at his watch. "God, I better head home. Poor Sam's probably chewed through the floorboards by now." His voice turned dead serious. "I am sorry about Alex, Rog."

"Yeah, me too."

"Tomorrow is my day off but I'll meet you at the coffee shop before you see IA, okay?"

Roger nodded, watching as Riggs disappeared down the stairs. After another minute he sat back down at the table. Swept the photos back into the box and threw it all in the corner of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

_No… the story hasn't been abandoned. LOL Just crazy times but now my muse has me in a chokehold and won't let go… Not a long chapter but I promise I will add on more soon. These are my first attempts at writing and I really want to thank everyone for your reading of my stories and your reviews! Thank you, thank you! _

* * *

At the sound of wheels crunching on gravel, Sam quickly wriggled out from his sleeping spot beneath the trailer. It had been a busy day of chasing seagulls and it was way, way past dinner time. Riggs stepped out of the truck, slamming the door shut with one foot, balancing a load of paper bags in his arms. "Hey, mutt, sorry I am so late."

Leaning over, he dropped the sacks onto the deck and opened the door. "Come on in." Sam scooted through with Martin following behind.

"Well, shit," Riggs muttered as he took a look under the sink. Out of dog food again. He fumbled through the bags that were now resting on the small kitchenette table, pulling out one of the containers of take-out Chinese. "Sam, it's a good thing you like lo mein." He dumped the contents into Sam's dog dish, and then grabbed a container for himself along with a beer. Glanced at his watch; 12:15am. "Well, shit," he muttered again. Peeling off his shirt, he tossed the balled up piece of clothing into a nearby corner and sat down on the couch with food and drink.

It had been another long miserable day consisting of Captain Murphy riding his ass, a screaming match with Ballistics over a late report, yet another case being added to the paperwork piled higher than his head and THEN the fucking cherry on top of the pie was when Dr. Woods came around to "see how he was doing". Sometimes when he was in the mood, he'd turn on the ole charm just to confuse her and entertain himself. He figured his best defense was to keep her guessing. Today, however, was not one of those days. He shot her a look so baleful it stopped her in mid-sentence before she quickly scurried away. No doubt to make copious amounts of new notations in his file.

It took eight beers before he could finally relax a bit.

Riggs flipped through the TV channels with a sigh – one hand absent-mindedly scratching Sam's ears. The dog shifted, stretching out over the couch, eyes closed. Martin just shook his head at the lump of fur next to him. Sighed again as he cut a quick glance to his wristwatch. God he hated 2 am. Nothing on but infomercials…. Not even his beloved Three Stooges could be found. Might as well take a piss. Afterwards, he managed to find a pair of sweats and was just slipping into them when the phone rang out through the small trailer. He quickly snatched it up from where it was resting on the kitchen counter. "Yo."

"Yo?" repeated Officer Simmons voice. "Didn't your mama teach you the proper way to answer a phone?"

"Didn't your mama teach you it's impolite to call people so late in the evening?" Martin retorted.

"Yeah? One hundred bucks says you weren't asleep."

"Alright, you win," sighed Riggs, "but what about you? A man your age should be in bed by now, shouldn't he?"

"Damn it, I wish I were… Would have called earlier but I'm working the graveyard shift this week and it has been out of control. Must be the moon or something." A small chortle bubbled across the phone line. "Remember Loco Eddie?"

Riggs snorted. "Remember? Shit, I couldn't forget him if I tried. He's still around?" Loco Eddie was a local character who had been arrested by every cop that ever walked the beat in Newton – including Riggs. Usually he was out in the streets wearing a huge-ass pink sombrero, purple cowboy boots… and nothing else.

"Oh yeah… And it's gotten even better. Now apparently he's buddied up with this midget."

"Midget?" Martin repeated, his head shaking in bemusement. He'd been a lot of places in his time but there wasn't much that compared to the LA night life.

"That's right. Apparently the midget was naked too… and was riding on top of Eddie's shoulders with a cowboy hat and bullwhip."

Riggs laughed. "Damn, all you needed was a big-chested stripper and you have the makings of one fine porno."

This time Mac was the one laughing. "Riggs, sometimes I really miss not having you over here in Newton."

"Yeah, I enjoyed it over there. Wish I had been able to be there longer, but…" His voice trailed off.

Sighing, Mac said, "Yeah… well after what happened with Royce, it was probably best to move ya."

"I guess."

They both sat there for a moment in silence until Martin finally murmured, "Well, I doubt you called to talk about the good old days. Something come up?"

"Well… I called in a favor with a PI friend of mine. He's been tailing Dunn—"

"And?" Martin was all business now, body tensing as his hand clenched the phone tightly.

"For the past three weeks, he's been meeting with someone at this warehouse and there was some type of exchange going on." Mac's voice was grim. "Guy's a young flatfoot, not some detective. It… Well, it sounds pretty damn fishy. Sounds like he's on the take. If he stays on the same schedule, his next meet-up should be day after tomorrow. Gives you a day at least to figure out your next move." Mac hesitated for a moment. "Ya know, Marty, I could always just pass this information on to IA, let them sort it out so you don't have to get your hands dirty."

"Are you shitting me?!" Martin's tone was sharper than he had intended. Reaching over, he grabbed a cigarette out of the nearby pack. Quickly lit one. "Sorry about that," he mumbled as he shook out the match. "But I'm gonna take care of this myself."

"Hmmm… I figured as much." Mac paused for a beat. "Are you doing okay, kid?"

Martin forced a smile into his voice. "Me? I'm so happy I'm shitting lollipops and farting rainbows."

Simmons certainly didn't believe him, but just heaved a sigh and gave him the address of Dunn's and the warehouse. After hanging up the phone, Riggs stared at the piece of paper for a long time, his mouth set into a determined line. "You're mine," he murmured quietly. "You are _mine_, you son-of-a-bitch."


	5. Chapter 5

_Another chapter – thanks to anyone reading and to anyone taking the time to review. It has helped to motivate me!_

* * *

"I am not going to argue with you about this, Riggs!"

"Yeah, I know that you're not because there is no argument. The answer is NO." Martin and Roger were standing in the Murtaugh's front driveway, hushed but angry whispers exchanging between the two of them. "No, no, and no." Martin tried to keep his voice down, but it wasn't easy. Eyes blazing, he walked away; leaned against Roger's boat, puffing furiously on a cigarette. Roger knew that it usually wasn't a good idea to follow his irate partner, but he just couldn't help himself this time. Martin glared at his approaching figure. "You're starting to piss me off, Rog."

"That's pretty rich coming from you, don't cha think?" Roger's tone was joking in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Riggs was having no part of that. Still scowling, he ground out the cigarette butt with his heel. "I'm not kidding," he muttered, "I _am _getting pissed."

Roger sighed, his own mood becoming rather irritated. His hands splayed out to his sides as he continued. "Martin, this is my job on the line – my ass on the line. I can't just sit here at the damn house all day doing nothing. Can't you understand that?"

"Yeah… I can understand that, Rog," Martin's tone had grown calmer. "But look what happened the last time you decided to do something. You go visit Alex Haven and the next thing we know – we're scraping his brains off of the ceiling." Roger's shoulders abruptly sagged downward at that, causing Riggs to frown. "Aw shit, Cochise…" He gave a small shake of his head. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Roger just nodded. He knew that Martin was probably feeling as frustrated as he was. Reaching up, he clamped one hand down on the younger man's shoulder. "Come on," he said with a jerk of his head. "Let's have a beer." Roger climbed up the boat's ladder, Riggs one step behind. Leaning over, Roger pulled two beers out, tossing one towards his partner, who snatched it out of the air one-handed. Martin popped the top of the can and took a swallow as he regarded Roger steadily. "I'm still not letting you come with me tomorrow, Rog."

"What are you going to do to stop me, Riggs? Hog-tie me?"

"Hmmm… I wouldn't be giving me any ideas if I were you…"

Roger swiveled around slowly in the captain's chair as he opened his beer. "Y' know, Martin, I've got my own car and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Don't even think about trying to tail me." Riggs gave a small smile. "Waste of your time." The smile widened. "I'll be able to lose you, trust me on this."

A frown clouded the older detective's features. Convincing Martin to have him come along was proving much more difficult than he had imagined. God, why did he have to have such a stubborn partner? He took in a calming breath, blew it out in a loud sigh. "So can you at least tell me what exactly is your plan?"

Riggs shrugged. "Not sure yet. I'll figure it out once I'm there."

His answer caused the furrow between Roger's eyes to deepen. "I don't like the sound of that. I don't like the sound of that _at all_. What if something goes wrong, Martin? I should be there for backup." His expression turned anxious. "I'll stay out of the way unless you need help."

But Riggs just gave another shake of his head. "Sorry, we can't risk it. You need to stay the hell away. At the very least until they've made a final determination on Haven's cause of death." He smiled again. "I can handle it."

"Fine… fine…" Roger muttered, although his voice showed it was anything but fine. Momentarily defeated, Roger heaved another sigh and then took a long drink of beer. "So… how's everything else going?" His voice was casual, but Martin's eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously.

"It's okay. Why do you ask?"

A noncommittal shrug from Roger. "Hmmm… just checking. You're taking on plenty, that's all and –"

Stretching out his legs as he leaned back in the seat, Riggs quickly waved away the rest of Roger's sentence. "Don't worry," he said with a smirk. "I've rearranged a few things on my busy social calendar to make it all work."

"Uh-uh, you're real funny, Riggs." Roger gave a shake of his head. "As I was saying, you're working nights and your days off on my crap and at the same time dealing with a heavy caseload at work. It's a lot." He gave a long pause, cleared his throat and then added. "Besides… I hear that you're having to do it alone."

"Oh, you heard that, did you?" Martin's voice tightened as he quickly sat up straight, his stare drilling into the other man. "I haven't said anything."

Roger noted the icy warning coming into Riggs's eyes, but he nodded his head anyway. What the hell… in for a penny, in for a pound. He glanced down at his hands briefly, then back up. "Yeah… well..." Clearing his throat, Roger said, "Captain Murphy called me last night."

"Son-of-a-bitch…" Riggs crushed his beer can, tossing it to the floor of the boat. "Why does everyone around here seem to think it's okay to get into my business?"

"Because we worry!" Roger leaned over, his brows knitted together tightly. "Why didn't you tell me about everything that's been going on?"

"Because I can handle it," Martin growled through clenched teeth.

"Really?" murmured Roger, his voice lowering a notch. "Murphy told me all about the transfer."

By this point, Riggs wasn't even trying to keep his voice down – the explosion had been set off and he was helpless to stop it. "I _SAID_ I can handle it!" The warnings in Martin's eyes took on a deadly glare as he stood to his feet. But he did nothing more than slice the blade of his hand through the air. "We're done here, Rog."

His own expression growing even more worried, Roger stood to his feet and went towards his partner. "Martin, we need to talk about thi—" But Riggs had already jumped over the side of the boat and was striding rapidly towards his truck. Roger leaned over. "Martin, don't go yet." And surprisingly Riggs stopped, turning around to face him, but his mouth was pressed into a thin angry line. Roger gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, hands flung up into the air. "Alright, alright, we won't talk about it right now." His head tilted towards the house. "Come on inside. Y' know that Trish is expecting you to stay for dinner."

Martin gave a tight smile, but it didn't touch the distance that had come up in his eyes. "I've got a busy day tomorrow, Rog. I'm sure you can come up with something to tell her." And then he was gone.

Roger quickly thought about going after him but then dismissed the idea just as quickly. Best to leave Martin to his dark mood – he knew he would come back around eventually.

Sighing heavily, he climbed out of the boat and headed for the house.

* * *

It sounded like an old cliché, but the fact of the matter was – these things became clichés because they were based in truth. And the truth was that being on stake-outs did sux. At least they did to Martin. And they REALLY suxed when you were hung over. Keeping one eye on the street, he fumbled through the truck's glove compartment, digging through the unpaid parking tickets, gum wrappers, extra gun clips and packets of hot sauce from the taco joint he frequented, until his hand closed around the bottle of aspirin. He popped a couple in his mouth; chewed them up and washed the powder down with a swig of his now cold coffee.

In all honesty, he hadn't planned to drink as much as he did, but things had a way of quickly getting out of hand with Martin, especially when he was pissed. And make no mistake about it, he was still pissed. Well, mainly pissed at Captain Murphy for opening his big yap. One of his hands closed unconsciously into a tight fist as he thought about it. Commanding officer on not, Riggs was really gonna give him a piece of his mind next time he saw him. Too bad he couldn't punch him; now that would _really_ make him feel better. As for Roger… well, Martin was feeling bad for yelling at his partner. He knew he meant well, but the whole thing was a real sore spot for Riggs and he had no interest in discussing it further, even with his best friend.

Riggs glanced down at his watch. It was way too early in the morning and he had already been stationed by Officer Dunn's apartment complex for more than an hour now. But despite the fact that he hated just sitting – and despite the fact that he was far from a patient man – and despite the fact that it felt like someone was jack-hammering on the inside of his skull – Riggs could stay focused on the task at hand. There had been many times when he was on assignment during the war that he had to stay in one place, covered in mud and leeches, for days on end before his assassination target ever showed his face. By comparison this was a cakewalk.

People were beginning to leave the apartment complex in larger numbers now; joggers heading out for a run, people rushing off for work, kids being herded off for school… Rolling down his window a bit, Martin lit a cigarette, following each person with sharp eyes, waiting for Dunn to appear. Suddenly his concentration was broken by the ringing of his cell phone. "Shit," he muttered, angry at himself for forgetting to turn it off. Maybe the hangover was affecting him more than he realized. But even so, a hangover was no excuse for being so slack. Reaching over, he glanced at the ID… Roger. He'd deal with that later. Turning the phone off, he shoved it back into the knapsack next to him, then blew a column of smoke out the window; focusing back onto the street just in time to see Officer Dunn walk out the front door. "Ah, show time," he murmured softly, an eager smile coming across his features. He took one last drag, flicked the butt away and eased out of his parking spot, staying several car lengths behind as Dunn's vehicle started down the street.

* * *

Riggs followed Dunn into the eastside industrial section of downtown; turning onto San Pedro Street at the outskirts of the Toy District. As they drove, he had kept one eye open along the way for any sign of Roger, but so far it appeared that his partner had had the good sense to stay home. At least maybe that would be one thing he didn't have to worry about this morning. He snapped back to full attention as Dunn suddenly slowed down and pulled into a parking spot. Going past him, Martin went just around the block before stopping his truck. It was early enough in the morning that the hordes of shoppers which would be descending on the area to purchase cheap-ass made in China crap weren't around yet; just deliveries being made and the homeless lining up for their early meal at the soup kitchens. Staying in the truck, he adjusted the rear-view mirror to keep his eye on the patrolman. Dunn stood on the sidewalk for a moment, glancing around briefly then slipping into a side alley between two warehouses. Checking his jacket pocket for extra clips, Riggs waited a few minutes before heading down the street to follow him. He peered around the corner but Dunn had already disappeared into one of the buildings. Pulling his Beretta out, Riggs moved carefully down the trash-strewn alleyway, ignoring the smells of overflowing dumpsters and stale urine. As he approached the side door to one of the warehouses, he caught a sudden movement from the corner of his eye, and wheeled around, gun aimed at the nearby pile of trash. Probably just a rat, he thought to himself but then the junk moved again. "Alright," Riggs said quietly, "I have a gun aimed right at you, shit-head. Get up from there now – and make sure you do it very slowly."

Following Riggs's orders, a figure appeared gradually out of the debris, his hands held upward in surrender. "D-don't s-s-shoot me," the voice stuttered out. Martin frowned at he took in the old man; tattered clothes hanging from his thin frame, sunken eyes framed by his gaunt, bearded face. He was so dirty that it was no wonder he blended right in with the rest of the garbage. "I was j-j-just trying to go to s-sleep, I – I swear…"

Although every nerve was still on high alert, Riggs's intuition told him that the man wasn't a worry. No; just an old bum, sleeping off an all-nighter in the shadows of the alley. Lowering his weapon, he pushed back his shirttail to reveal the shield he kept clipped to his jeans. "It's okay. You're not in trouble." His head jerked towards the door. "You see someone go in there?"

The man nodded quickly, eager to please, hoping not to get knocked around or thrown into jail first thing in the morning. "Y-yeah – yeah… young guy went in a few minutes ago."

"Was he alone?"

For an answer, he nodded again, the motion causing him to sway precariously on his feet. "Hey, okay, there, buddy," Riggs reached over and put a steadying hand under one of the man's elbows. "You're sure he was alone?"

"I am." The vagrant suddenly gripped Riggs's forearm tightly, his expression turning urgent, desperate. "You – you have any spare change?" Just as quick his look turned to one of embarrassment. "I could really use it… Just a little spare change for a vet?"

Staring into the man's bloodshot eyes, Riggs realized with a sudden start that underneath all the layers of grime and stench, the bum wasn't as old as he had originally thought – that they were in fact about the same age. Martin felt a strange kind of melancholy come over him; knowing that most of the time he felt the difference between himself and people on the fringe of society was indistinguishable. That one misstep and he could be the one living in an alley. He felt his own hangover start to pound again. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a ten and shoved it into the man's hand. "You should go now."

"Thanks, man." He drew in a shaky breath, then jerked his head back towards the building. "That other guy didn't give me anything but a kick."

Martin gave a terse nod. "Yeah, well, I have it on good authority that he's a prick."

Taking the man's bony shoulders he turned him in the direction of the street. "I am serious. You should go. There could be trouble and there's no need for you to be hanging around." He gave him a small push. "Rescue's got breakfast going. You should get your ass down there."

"Okay," the man murmured and began to shuffle slowly back down in the other direction. Riggs watched him for a minute, satisfied that he would be out of the way and then slipped into the side door of the warehouse. Pushing himself against the wall, he knelt down, gun drawn, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. He was surrounded by large wooden crates and reaching up, he wiped a thick layer of dirt away, suppressing a sneeze as the dust floating through the air. Wooden crates filled with old Christmas souvenirs, ornaments and toys – and from the look of things they had been stored here untouched for at least a couple of seasons. Creeping forward, his ears strained for any noise that might indicate where the dishonest flatfoot was hanging out, Martin began to make his way along the side wall towards the back of the warehouse.

He froze suddenly, muffled voices sounding out from ahead. Pausing, Riggs tried to figure out exactly where they were coming from and finally pinpointed it. His head swiveled upwards as he reached a staircase against the far back wall. Like everything else, the steps were covered with a layer of dust, making it easy to see the imprint of recent shoes where someone had gone. There was no storage space above; the stairs led to what looked to be nothing more than a small office. Crouched down, Riggs hesitated, trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn't get up the stairs as much as he wanted to hear what was going on – he would be seen immediately. When he had told Roger that he didn't have a plan, he wasn't kidding. Of course, not having a plan was not usually something that bothered Martin much, but Roger's career was on the line this time – and quite frankly- possibly his as well. And as much as he had no problem with jumping in, guns blazing, for once he was trying to insure that he didn't garner any unwanted attention. Riggs had worked patrol in this area for a year back in his early days just before starting in Vice and if shots were fired, he knew he wouldn't have much time – Central Division HQ was right up the street.

Damn it. Sounded like someone was not happy. The voices were getting louder, but he still couldn't make out what they were talking about. Maybe he could lure them back down, but then again, it might just end up spooking them and there was no way Riggs was going to leave here empty handed. And that was where he was, still crouched down at the bottom of the stairs when the body came tumbling over the railing to land right next to him.


	6. Chapter 6

_Another chapter – thanks to anyone reading and to anyone taking the time to review. It has helped to motivate me!_

He spent half the morning racking his brains, trying desperately to pull out that needed piece of information, and, thankfully in the end, Roger had been able to come up with the name of Martin's old friend from Newton. A quick call to the division informed him that Mac Simmons was enjoying his day off. As much as Roger would have preferred meeting up to talk face to face with the man, time was of the essence and he worried that he had already wasted enough of it.

On the fourth ring, a woman's voice answered at Mac's home. "Hello."

"Hello, this is Roger Murtaugh over in Robbery/Homicide. Could I speak with Mac?"

"Sure, hold on."

Roger stood in the kitchen, his fingers drumming out a rapid beat on the blue tile counter as he waited impatiently for the senior patrol officer to pick up.

"Hello, this is Mac."

"Sorry to bother you at home. This is Roger Murtaugh… I'm Martin Riggs's partner."

"Yeah, I know who you are. What can I help you with?"

Roger hesitated briefly, taken aback by the unexpected sharp tone of Simmons's voice. "I… I was hoping you could help me in tracking down Martin."

"What makes you think I know where he is?"

"Because he told me he got a line on Dunn from you and he planned on dealing with it this morning." When Mac said nothing, Roger continued. "Look, I just want to meet up with him in case he runs into trouble."

A short laugh erupted from the other end of the line. "If Martin had wanted you to come along, he would have given you the information himself. My guess is he wanted you to stay out of it… which means I don't have anything else to say."

Roger took in a deep steadying breath. This was exactly why he would have preferred to meet up with Simmons, having always found it easier to make a more convincing case in person. "Officer Simmons," he continued, "I know that Martin holds you in high regard and I appreciate you not wanting to break any confidence, but I really want to make sure everything goes okay."

"Riggs is a big boy. If there is anyone who can handle themselves, it's Marty."

Roger frowned. Again with the tone. It was downright confrontational. He gave a bewildered shake of his head. "Okay, what exactly is going on here?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I am getting the distinct impression that you are pissed off at me and I'm not sure why."

A low sigh came across the phone line. "I'm sorry, it's just… look, I've known Riggs for a long time. Most people don't get him, but I do. He doesn't have much along the line of friends – never has, but once you're in good with him – that's it. Marty is loyal… loyal to a fault. He's putting his ass on the line to help you. I just hope you're worth it."

Roger nodded in understanding. "I completely appreciate where you are coming from. And, yeah, I hope that I am too. That's why I want to be there in case he needs any help."

"Well, you certainly have stuck it out as his partner far longer than anyone else has, I'll give ya that." Simmons's voice had grown kinder. He paused a long moment, obviously thinking things over before exhaling loudly. "Alright… I'll tell you. But you damn well better say to Riggs that you had to beat it outta me."

"Don't worry," Roger said with a grin, "I will."

There wasn't much that surprised Martin Riggs, but even he jumped back slightly when the body landed face down next to him with a sickening thud. Immediately he knew two things: one, from the clothes on the body that it wasn't Dunn and two, from the angle of the man's head, he didn't have to worry about him getting back up again.

Cursing under his breath, he sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time in his haste. As he reached the top, Riggs flew through the door and dove quickly to the right, rolling behind a small desk. It didn't offer much protection, but if there was going to be a gunfight, it was still better than standing out in the middle of the room. A quick look around the office, however, revealed that Martin was alone. He crossed over to the open window and looked outside to see a fire escape below– its metal frame still vibrating slightly from the weight of the person who had just shimmied down it… Dunn… From his high vantage point, Riggs looked in both directions, cursing again when he saw no sign of the police officer. Where the hell had he gone? Tucking the beretta in his waistband, Riggs quickly climbed through the window, sliding down the ladder of the fire escape and then hit the ground at a full run, pulling out his weapon as he bolted down the alleyway. Arms pumping, he tore around the corner onto the main street as fast as he could, and collided straight into a delivery person making his early morning rounds. The force of their impact sent both men falling to the ground, boxes flying up into the air.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Riggs rolled to one side and was back on his feet right away. He turned to the other man sprawled out next to him. "Did you see a guy come running down here?"

Still stunned by what had just occurred, the delivery person looked up from the sidewalk, broken pottery all around him. "No!" His voice grew agitated as he flung an arm outward. "What in the hell is wrong with you, pal? Look at what you've done!"

"Shit!" Ignoring both the threats spewing from the delivery person and the increasing throng of onlookers, Riggs turned, heading back down the alley. "Shit!" He yanked open the first side door he came to. A group of elderly Chinese women looked up from where they have been wrapping packages up for display – staring at him with questioning looks on their faces. He slammed the door shut, opening the next one in the alleyway although he knew by this point that it was a futile gesture. Too many places to hide – he'd never be able to find him alone this way."Shit, shit, shit!" Riggs kicked a nearby trashcan in frustration, the garbage spilling out across the already filthy alleyway. Turning around, he raced back to the warehouse, yanking the side door open and slipping in. Thankfully, no shots had been fired, which would hopefully buy him a little bit of time before the black and whites arrived. Once inside, he made his way back to the body still lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Just great, Riggs thought to himself. Now here he was with Dunn gone and a fresh stiff on his hands. This definitely was not going to be good. Looked like this day was going to turn out to be a shitty one after all. Crouching down, he turned the body onto his back, giving the man a quick look over. White guy, probably a little older than him, sandy blond hair, nothing to distinguish him from much of the population of LA – he was on the whole, remarkably unremarkable. Except for maybe one thing. Riggs would certainly never be mistaken for a fashion plate, but even he knew that the man was wearing no off-the-rack clothing. No, this was one very expensive suit. He was flipping the man's jacket open when he heard the warehouse door open. Drawing his gun, Martin spun around quickly on his heel, and found himself aiming directly at Roger. "Goddamn it, Rog!" He stood up, the scowl on his face growing even deeper as Roger holstered his weapon and trotted over to his partner.

Roger stared down at the still figure lying at Martin's feet for a long moment before finally giving a shake of his head. "Shit, Riggs… did you just HAVE to go and kill somebody?"

"Damn it, I didn't do this!" Riggs gave a frustrated sigh, one hand rubbing his forehead. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"I came to help you out."

"Well, looks like you're a little too late." Martin tucked his beretta away. "I can't believe you tailed me without me noticing. Christ, I must be getting soft."

"Hmm… yeah, well, I actually didn't tail you. I got the address from Mac Simmons. But don't get mad at him. I really forced his hand."

"Oh, don't you worry…" Riggs gave a hard and pointed stare at Roger. "I'm not mad at Mac." Bringing his attention back to the task at hand, he bent down and opened the guy's jacket. "He's carrying," he muttered as he pointed to the snub-nosed .357 tucked into the man's waistband. He left the weapon where it was and proceeded to go through the jacket's pockets.

Roger leaned over Martin's shoulder, staring intently at the dead body.

"Hey, I know this guy."

Riggs's head jerked up, eyes intense. "What? From where? Who is he?"

"I—I don't remember…" Roger shook his head in frustration. "It was from a long time ago, but I recognize that face. I know I do. Any ID on him?"

"Nothing, just the gun."

Roger went to reach for the man's jacket when Martin's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't touch him! You want to be connected to another corpse that has a connection to your case? You need to get out of here now."

"What about him?" Roger pointed to the dead man.

"I'll deal with him later." Standing back up, Martin headed for the door.

"Wait, Riggs, where are you going?"

"I'm going to that asshole Dunn's apartment."

"Do you think that he went there?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I hope so – I have a few things I'd like to discuss with him."

"I'm coming with you."

Riggs glowered at Roger for a long moment then finally shook his head. For once he couldn't even be bothered with arguing. Without another word, he went out of the warehouse, Roger a step behind.

"Just remember, Riggs, we need to keep him alive. For god's sake, I need someone who can explain to me what the hell is going on here… so no killing, okay?"

"Yeah, right, Rog… No killing… I'll try to remember that."


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey guys, Thanks for the new reviews! I really appreciate the feedback. I hope anyone reading is having as much fun as I am writing… _

"I don't see Dunn's car anywhere."

The two men were positioned in the far back corner of the parking lot behind Dunn's apartment complex. At Martin's comment, Roger scanned the building with narrowed eyes.

"Well, maybe that's for the best." He sighed. "At this point, I'm not sure even I could control myself if I get a chance to lay my hands on him."

Riggs gave a smile but there was no humor behind it. "That's understandable, Rog." Leaning over, he reached into Roger's car and hit the lever to pop open the trunk. He rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out a box of police gloves. Handed a pair to his partner. "Let's try and be careful here. I'm still not sure what our next move is gonna be and for now, I would rather not leave any evidence behind if we can help it."

Giving a nod, Roger shoved the latex gloves into his jacket pocket. "I don't know what scares me more… the fact that my career is hanging by a thread or hearing you talk about being careful."

"Trust me, none of this is easy for me either." Riggs shrugged. "Hey, it would be a different story if this was just about me. But since it's about you… Well, I _better _be careful. Don't want Trish on my ass, y' know."

"You don't have to tell me that twice," muttered Roger. "Been married to the woman for over 25 years."

* * *

Standing in the hallway outside of Dunn's front door, the two men slipped their gloves on and Roger quickly reached over to turn the knob. "It's locked," he whispered as he pulled out his Smith and Wesson. "Ready to go on three?"

"Wait… we aren't gonna bust the door in."

"We aren't?" Roger frowned as he stared at his partner. "Damn it, Riggs, quit trying to confuse me! I'm already under enough stress as it is."

Riggs grinned. "Just keeping you on your toes, Cochise." Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a slim black leather pouch. "Remember, we aren't supposed to be here… Keep an eye out for anyone, will ya?" Martin opened the pouch to reveal a lock-pick set.

"Great," sighed Roger as he watched Riggs start to work on the apartment door. "Now, I _really_ am feeling like a criminal."

"Don't be such a do-gooder all the time, Rog… besides this is a special situation."

A soft click. "Got it." Riggs stood up and pulled his own weapon out.

Roger nodded his head as Riggs slowly turned the knob. He opened the door and they crept inside, shutting it softly behind them. Pointing to himself, Martin motioned down the hall and disappeared, leaving Roger to sweep the rooms in the front. After determining no one else was there, he made his way back to the front room as he heard Riggs call out that all was clear from the back.

"No one's home," replied Roger as he holstered his gun. He gazed over one shoulder as his partner suddenly appeared at his side.

"Look at this place," Martin said as he glanced around. "Weird… hardly looks like anyone even lives here."

Indeed the place was nearly bare. The living room they were standing in contained a small couch, a bookshelf along the wall housing some papers, a few books and a small TV. A desk and chair sat in the corner. The walls were completely bare – not one personal item to be found anywhere. The room opened up into a pristine kitchen that had obviously never been used.

"Well, he certainly doesn't have your sense of decorating, Martin, that's for sure."

"Hey, I'm here trying to help you –" Riggs said, eyes rolling, "– this is not the time to insult my housekeeping skills."

Roger didn't bother replying. "I'll start here. Why don't you check out the back?"

"Sure thing, Rog."

Riggs disappeared down the hall again as Roger opened the first drawer of the desk. A frustrating fifteen minutes of going through every slip of paper revealed nothing of interest. Turning, Roger focused his attention on the bookshelves that lined the back wall of the living room. He grabbed a handful of papers when he heard a sudden shout from Riggs.

"Shit! Roger, I found something. You better get in here!"

Throwing the papers down, he hurried through the hall to find his partner in a back bedroom, again as barren as the rest of the apartment. He was standing by the closet, a thick notebook in his hand.

"What is it, Riggs?"

Martin gave a shake of his head as handed the binder over. "Take a look."

Grabbing it, Roger opened the notebook, his eyes growing wider as he flipped through some pages. "Son of a bitch," he whispered.

"Yeah…" Riggs gave another shake of his head, his eyebrows rising. "Glad to know I'm not the only one who's made some enemies along the way." His expression suddenly turned urgent. "Look, you better take it with you. We can look through it later. Right now, let's finish going through this place. I've got to get going."

Roger slammed the binder shut, tucking it under one arm. "Get going? Where?"

"In case you've forgotten, I've still got a dead body to call in. I just hope to hell someone didn't call the police already." Martin ran a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna have enough tap dancing to do on this one as it is."

A concerned look came over Roger's face. "Shit… Martin, I don't want you to get into trouble over all of this."

Riggs smiled reassuringly. "Oh, I imagine it's too late for that now."

* * *

Oh well, Riggs thought to himself… Here he was… Back in the hot seat again. Of course, he was pretty used to it by this point of his career. Normally, it was something he could handle with relative ease, but still he couldn't help but feel a little more apprehension than usual this time around – after all it was more than just his ass on the line. Turning around, he checked on Murphy. The captain was still out in the hall finishing up his conversation with one of the detectives from Vice. Martin patted his shirt pocket; cursed when he realized he was out of smokes. Getting out of the chair, he started pacing from one end of the small office to the next. His head jerked up as the door suddenly opened and Captain Murphy rushed in, slamming the door behind him. A hard scowl was on his face as he threw a handful of papers down on his desk and silently pointed to the empty chair in front of him. Heaving a big sigh, Riggs sat back down.

Ignoring the detective for the moment, Murphy muttered under his breath, rummaging through the desk drawers until he finally found what he was looking for. Pulled out a large bottle of Pepto-Bismol and took a swig. "Damn stomach," he gripped.

Riggs gave a big grin. "Hey, Captain, I thought you said you didn't get ulcers."

Putting the bottle down, Murphy's eyes bored into the detective with all the fury he could muster, which at that moment was quite considerable. "Well congratulations, Riggs, you have finally succeeded in giving me one. Happy now?"

Martin just continued smiling, having decided at the last minute it would probably be in his best interest to remain silent. No doubt about it… as far as ass-chewings went this was going to be an unpleasant one. Looking down, he busied himself by picking at a loose thread dangling from his shirt tail. Waited for the reign of shit to come down.

Taking a last swig of medicine, Murphy threw the bottle back into the desk drawer and then leaned forward, regarding Riggs with hard eyes. He gave a sigh, hands tenting in front of him. "Where do I begin, Riggs?" Another sigh. "First off, mind explaining to me what you were doing down in the Toy District this morning? Since it isn't a day off for you, I would assume that somehow it was related to a case currently on your desk, right?"

Martin looked up. "No… but you already knew that."

The captain gave a slow nod of his head. "Hmm-hmm." His mouth thinned. "I swear, Riggs, I am of the mind to sign that transfer to Narcotics whether Murtaugh comes back or not. Of course, I would still have to deal with you, but at least you wouldn't be stationed out of Parker Center… Give me a little breathing room." Murphy made an irate noise in his throat. "Not that it may matter anyway."

Riggs frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What that means is…" Murphy shifted quickly through the papers he had thrown down earlier before pulling one out of the pile. "… What that means, Riggs – is that this little piece of paper – this OFFICIAL looking piece of paper is the OFFICIAL order from IAD putting you on temporary suspension."

"WHAT?" Martin's loud yell sounded throughout the office. "For Christ's sake, thi—"

"Shut up, Riggs!" By this point, Captain Murphy was so angry, his face was nearly purple. "Do you have any idea what you've done? How this could jeopardize Roger's situation?" He slammed an open palm down on the desk top. "Do you know how this all looks? Dunn is gone, and you are found with a dead man that is supposedly related somehow to Murtaugh's case. For all IA knows, you killed the man at the warehouse and maybe Dunn too. Are you really surprised by how this has turned out?"

Riggs could feel that old familiar rage flow through him and he tightened his hands onto the chair's armrests in order to stop himself from punching something. "No," he finally snapped, "I'm not surprised by anything those shitheads at IA do." He snorted in disgust. "Exactly how do they plan on pinning that man's murder on me? There aren't any of my bullets in him."

Murphy's mouth thinned as he glanced down at another paper in front of him. "No," he said quietly, "we will have to wait for the full autopsy report to come back, but right now, according to these preliminaries, it looks like his neck was snapped." He turned a pointed stare at Riggs. "And not by the fall – it was done on purpose prior to him taking a tumble." His voice turned even harder. "Very few on the force have that kind of training, and only one that I know of that just happened to be at the _WAREHOUSE _at the time he was killed!"

"Christ…" Riggs rubbed his aching head. Trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, he asked, "Is IA gonna listen to one thing I told them? Or do they just plan on railroading me along with my partner?" He kicked a boot against the desk leg in frustration. "Are they going to check the warehouse for Dunn's prints?"

"I am sure they will, Riggs."

"What about Dunn? Have they located him?"

"Not as far as I know. I'm sure they are trying to track him down." Murphy shook his head. "Apparently he didn't show up for patrol this morning."

"Yea… good luck with that," Martin growled through clenched teeth. "He's gone. Dunn is as dirty as they come. And those bozos will never be able to get him – He will slip right through their slimy fingers." His voice turned urgent. "Captain, we have to get one of our own in there. For God's sake, you can't just let those shitheads take this over now."

Murphy nodded. "I'll see what I can do… Maybe I can get McCaskey and Chu in there… But for now…" Murphy tugged at his tie, his breath coming out in a long sigh. "I did everything I could for you with this, Riggs. I really did… At least I was able to keep you on the payroll for the time being, but you have to turn in your shield, ID and sidearm now."

His expression was fierce, but Martin said nothing as he stood and deposited the items onto the captain's desk. No point in getting any angrier at Murphy. He knew that the captain meant it when he said he had done everything he could. The man liked nothing better than yelling at Riggs, but in the end, he always had his back – and Riggs knew that.

Murphy picked them up and deposited them into his desk, as disgusted as Riggs about the whole deal. He looked up at the detective, a slightly pleading look coming over him. "For the love of everything holy, Riggs, just stay away from this mess. If IA finds out you're doing anymore looking into this, there won't be a thing I can do for you."

Martin's icy eyes narrowed. "Fuck IA," he said with a dangerous smile.


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry about the delay… RL is kicking my butt right now… Thanks to everyone reading and special thanks for those leaving a review. Much appreciated. _

Roger frowned as he placed the phone back down into the receiver. This was easily the thirtieth call he had placed to Martin's and still no answer. He hadn't heard from his partner since he went back to deal with the stiff at the warehouse and Roger was beginning to get worried. Looked down at his watch. Damn it… nearly 11 pm. He really didn't want to make the long drive to Riggs' trailer at this time of night. His hand hovered over the phone again. He could always call HQ and see if he could get some information. Sighing, Roger's hand dropped back down to his side. No, Martin had already been mad enough with him talking to Murphy about the transfer; he didn't want to go down that road – at least not yet. He would wait; after all he'd find out what happened soon enough. Still made him anxious though.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned around as Trish came into the bedroom. "Hey, baby," he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and bent over to take off his shoes.

"Hey, yourself." Trish came over to sit down next to her husband. Reaching up, she rubbed one hand across his neck. "Everything alright?"

"Sure…" Taking off his watch, he placed it on the bedside table. "Why do you ask?"

"You were so quiet during dinner."

"Was I? Sorry…" Roger sighed. "Guess I'm just worried…" His eyes drifted down towards his hands. "Umm… well, something happened today."

Despite her best efforts to stay calm, Trish still found herself tensing up at the tone of Roger's voice. She took in a deep breath. "What was it?"

Roger shrugged. "Martin was working on my case and one of the guys he was following ended up dead."

"Martin had to shoot him?"

"No, nothing like that. Apparently Dunn killed him."

Trish's eyes widened. "That should be good news, right?" Her voice held an excited lilt to it. "I mean that has to show he's dirty."

"If we can prove that he did it. It's just… Riggs didn't actually _see_ it happen. In fact, he didn't even see Dunn. Instead all we have is another dead body and Martin at the scene." Roger shook his head glumly. "Guess we'll see what forensics turns up after they sweep the place." Standing up, he took off his shirt and wriggled out of his slacks. He was not going to tell Trish that he had shown up at the scene as well or that he had gone with Riggs over to Dunn's apartment. And he definitely did not plan on telling her what they had found there. Roger hated withholding information from her, but he knew it would all just cause her to worry even more and he didn't want that. He put on his pajamas and then sat back down on the bed next to her. "I've been calling Martin, but he's not answering… Anyway, just wish I would hear from him."

Reaching over, Trish held onto Roger's hand, lacing her fingers through his. "It's going to work out, Roger. I just know it."

Despite his foul mood, Roger couldn't help but smile. No matter how bad his day could be – and as a cop there were some really shitty days – Trish could always make him feel better. Squeezing her hand, he leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I know."

* * *

1:30am… Roger stared at the glowing numbers in frustration, awake again from his fitful sleep. Rolling over onto his back, he focused his gaze on the ceiling, before finally giving up on any chance of falling back asleep. He gingerly moved Trish's arm from where it was draped around him and slipping from her embrace, got out of bed. Grabbed the bath robe hanging on the back of the bedroom door and quietly headed down the stairs. Going down into the kitchen, Roger poured himself a glass of orange juice and then went out the side door to the garage and up to his hobby room. He moved some home improvement books from where they were resting on a nearby shelf and reaching towards the back, pulled out the notebook that he had hidden there that afternoon. Sitting down at the small table, he opened it up and started looking through it again.

The notebook contained a good amount of his career with LAPD. Newspaper clippings, photos, notes on cases he had worked on – cases stretching back before he and Riggs were ever partnered together. The end of the book was crowded with the investigation into the South African Embassy and Arjen Rudd. Hardly surprising, considering that of all the cases Roger had dealt with over his long career, it had certainly received the most press coverage ending the way it did; with the deaths of so many investigators and Martin nearly getting killed. The clippings went through the lengthy trial and various notes were included not only on Roger but also on Martin and Alex Haven. The last bit contained cases he had handled with Alex up until the time Riggs came back to work. He slammed the binder shut, eyes staring off, lost deep in thought. The answer to all of this god-awful mess had to be in there somewhere. Sighing wearily, Roger opened the binder yet again and very slowly began reading through every page. He had been at it for about an hour when he suddenly froze, his gaze focused on a picture in one of the newspaper clippings.

Jerking to his feet, he went over to his workbench, fumbled around until he found the magnifying glass that he kept there. Looked back at the page, studying it for a long moment – yes, no doubt about it… That's where he must have seen the guy from the warehouse before. Roger looked down at his watch. 2:40 am. Well, it wasn't like Riggs hadn't ever bothered _him _at this time of night. Grabbing the phone, he quickly dialed his partner; sighed deeply when the answering machine picked up. Disconnecting, he dialed Martin's cell. Again no answer. Taking the notebook, Roger replaced it behind his books and headed back to the house. There was nothing else to be done until morning.

* * *

Roger had just put the finishing touches on his sandwich when he heard a sudden "Hey." He jerked around, nearly dropping the knife as he stared at his partner standing by his side. "Damn it, Riggs," he groused, "How many times have I got to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?" Leaning over, he put the knife in the dishwasher. "I swear one of these days I am gonna shoot you by accident."

Martin grinned. "Naah… I know you never wear your piece in the house unless you're about to head for work."

"You look like shit," was Roger's only response. "Lose your hair brush again?"

"Well, good morning to you too, Rog."

Roger eyeballed his watch. "You mean, good afternoon?"

"Whatever," muttered Riggs. "I didn't sleep much last night, all right? What's your excuse?"

"Are you saying I look bad?"

Martin just raised his eyebrows in answer.

Sighing loudly, Roger grabbed his sandwich along with a bag of chips. "You weren't the only one who couldn't sleep last night." He headed for the table. "You want something to eat?"

Riggs just shook his head. "Ya got any coffee left?"

"Help yourself. I just made a brand new pot."

Martin poured himself a cup and joined Roger at the kitchen table. Seeing the notebook there, Riggs grabbed it and started to look through it. "Did you go over all of this then?"

Roger nodded. "Yeah… about half a dozen times."

Riggs suddenly stopped flipping the pages as he stared at a picture of himself. "Man, whoever took this picture TOTALLY got my bad side… Should have been from the left angle." He started turning the pages again, stopping here and there to read. Stopped again as he came to the page with notes on himself. Glanced up at Roger as he tapped a finger on the binder. "This information… some of it would be public record but a lot of this stuff they had to get from my personnel file."

Roger nodded again. "Yep… Same for me and for Alex." He paused, deep in thought then finally gave a shake of his head. "Question is, was Dunn somehow able to get this himself or did he have help?"

"Shit… If there is someone else on the force involved with this…"

"Yeah, this whole thing is just getting uglier and uglier." Roger got up to put his plate in the dishwasher as Martin focused back onto the notebook. He stopped again as he came to the first of the newspaper clippings on the South African Embassy investigation. Stared transfixed at the first page for a long minute then suddenly thumbed through until he reached the end of that set of articles. Even now, he still had no desire to revisit that particular period of time. Started reading again when he got to the cases that Roger had worked with Alex.

Grabbing a cup, Roger poured himself some coffee and sat back down. "I kept trying to call you last night."

Riggs looked up briefly, his concentration broken. "Yeah? … Sorry … Sam and I went for a long run on the beach."

"Musta been some run considering the last time I called was at 2:40 this morning and I still didn't get an answer."

Shrugging, Martin returned his attention to the binder. "Well, like I said, it was a long run."

"Too bad you weren't around to pick up the phone."

"Mmmm… why is that?"

Roger stared at his partner for a long moment then replied, "Because I figured out where I knew the guy from the warehouse. That's why."

Riggs's head jerked back up, eyes widening in surprise, the notebook momentarily forgotten. "What?" he exclaimed loudly. "From where? Jesus, when were you planning on telling me?"

Roger glared back at his partner. "Oh, I don't know, Riggs…" he said as he leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "When were you planning on telling me what happened after you went back to call in the body?"

"Oh, that…" Riggs shifted in his chair as he looked back down at the book, all of a sudden very interested in it once again. He studied it in silence for a few minutes, finally looking back up to find the older detective still staring at him through narrowed eyes. Martin heaved a defeated sigh. "Okay, you want to know, fine … right now it looks like I might be joining you in the unemployment line."

"They suspended you?"

"Yeah they did."

"Shit," Roger muttered in an upset voice as he rubbed a palm across his forehead. "This is all my fault."

Riggs quickly threw his hands up into the air, gesturing for his partner to be quiet. "Whoa, whoa… hang on a minute, Rog. This isn't on your head. I made my own decisions."

"Still, Martin, if I –"

Riggs face went hard. "Forget it. Let's just concentrate on getting to the bottom of this and maybe we can both get our jobs back."

Roger stared at him for a moment and then shrugging, said, "Okay."

"Great. Would you like to share what you found out now?"

Roger gestured for the binder and Riggs leaned over, pushing it across the table to him. As he began flipping through the pages, Martin went and poured himself another cup of coffee, coming back to stand behind Roger. He stared over his shoulder as the other detective came to a stop and pointed to the page. Frowned as he leaned over. "Uhmmm… What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Right there." Roger jabbed his finger for emphasis. "That's him in the background."

Martin leaned over even closer. "The quality of this newsprint is pretty damn bad… Are you sure it's him?"

"Of course I'm sure that I'm sure!" Roger's mouth set into a determined line. "I definitely remember it now."

Nodding, Riggs sat back down. "Okay, I see it's a case that I didn't work on – so tell me about it."

Roger took in a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. He stared at the page again and then finally looked back up at his partner. "It was a case I worked four years before we were partnered together… started with this prostitute getting murdered."

"A dead hooker?" Riggs frowned. "Why was RHD involved? Seems pretty low profile for you guys."

"True," Roger said with a nod. "But she was no corner hustler. This girl was a very high-end call girl whose body was found in a very exclusive hotel penthouse. Most likely whoever was involved had lots of money, power and connections."

"And let me guess… that turned out to be the case?"

"Of course," chuckled Roger. "Well, the son of someone rich and powerful anyway."

"Even better." Riggs muttered, eyes rolling.

"Yeah, daddy was not happy. The two of them were close – the son was supposed to take over for the father when he retired. He tried his best to strong arm the investigation, but in the end, there wasn't a whole lot he could do. Couldn't argue with the physical evidence. " Roger shrugged as he took a sip of coffee. "We had a strong case."

"So how did it end up?"

"In the end, I guess Daddy's influence came into play." Roger stared at the page again, his mouth thinning into a bitter line. "The son ended up getting sentenced with voluntary manslaughter."

Riggs eyes widened. "Hell, Rog… then that means he may be out on parole. Do you know his whereabouts?"

Roger looked up quickly and gave a shake of his head. "No… I – I never keep up with that kind of stuff. Never thought I would have to worry about the possibility of someone coming after me."

"I think it's time to entertain that thought." Riggs jumped to his feet, face set in determination, his own situation momentarily forgotten. "We need to find out about both the kid and his father." Leaning over, he gave Roger a pat on the back. "Come on, partner, let's go to some detective work."


	9. Chapter 9

_Never fear! I will be finishing this one and adding additional stories … Thanks to everyone reading and special thanks for those leaving a review. Much appreciated. _

"Hi Martin," Trish smiled as Riggs leaned in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. "Good to see you."

"Thanks… good morning." His smile widened as he reached around her and quickly snagged a piece of bacon from its resting place on the platter.

"Hey there!" She smacked him playfully across the arm as he popped it into his mouth.

Trish was an atrocious cook – a fact most everyone in Robbery/Homicide knew, but there were actually a couple of things she did excel at. Two of which were frying perfect bacon and making one mean pot of coffee; both of which Riggs was in dire need of that morning. As soon as Trish bent down to get a pan for the eggs, he furtively grabbed a handful of bacon, then made his way over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup.

"Is Roger's lazy butt up yet?" he asked.

"He was getting out of the shower, should be down any minute. Do you want some eggs – hey, Martin!" Trish cast a baleful eye towards her husband's partner. "I had cooked nearly a whole package of bacon!" She pointed a finger towards the now empty platter.

Martin shoved another piece in his mouth with a sheepish grin. "Sorry… I didn't have any groceries at my place this morning…" His blue eyes opened wide. "Can I still get those eggs?"

Trish smiled in spite of herself. "Of course." Shaking her head, she reached into the refrigerator as Roger stepped in and headed straight for the stove.

"Hey! Where's all the bacon?"

Straightening back up, Trish put the cartons she had been juggling on the kitchen counter. "Really, Roger… Do you actually have to ask that question?"

"No, I guess not." Sighing, Roger made due with a cup of coffee, glaring as Riggs chewed the last piece of bacon.

"How do you want your eggs this morning, Martin?"

"Scrambled is fine."

Roger threw his hands up in defeat. "Brother…" he muttered under his breath before turning back around to his partner. "Riggs, when you're finished eating me out of house and home, I'll be up in the workshop, doing – y'know, actual work."

Martin just grinned. "Sure thing, Cochise."

* * *

Balancing a fresh pot of coffee in one hand and a plate of bacon and eggs in the other, Riggs made his way up the stairs to Roger's hobby room. Opening the door, he found his partner on his cell phone, furiously scribbling down notes. He glanced up as Martin set the plate down in front of him and filled up his now empty coffee cup. Stifling a yawn, Riggs pulled out the mug he had stuck in his jacket pocket and filled it as well. Steaming cup in hand, he sat down, one leg jumping up and down impatiently as he waited for Roger to finish the call.

"Okay, great… Thanks, Barry. No, no, that's just what I needed. Okay." Roger nodded his head. "Of course… Thanks again, I owe ya."

Disconnecting the call, Roger sat the phone down with a sigh. Riggs peered over the top of his mug as he took a sip of coffee. "So, what's up?" Martin's questioning expression turned to slight worry as his partner continued staring at the phone without answering. "Yo, Rog…" Martin cleared his throat. "Hello, Earth to Roger, he—"

"I hear ya, Riggs."

At the sound of Roger's tone, Martin decided it would be pointless to try and drag an answer out of the older detective until he was ready. After another minute of silence, Roger finally looked up. "Well, that was a dead-end… literally."

"What is it?"

"James Evanston is dead… which would probably make it hard for him to be behind all of this." Picking up the fork, Roger pushed the food around the plate without enthusiasm. "Blows our theory right out of the water."

Setting his coffee down on the nearby workbench, Riggs patted his jacket pockets, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Roger's eyes widened in disbelief as Martin lit up. "Damn it, Riggs… what's this shit? You just told me last week you stopped smoking, remember?"

Martin shrugged. "Yeah… uhmm… about that…" Tilting back in the chair, he blew out a series of perfect smoke rings. "… I kinda started back up again."

"So I see." Roger gave a shake of his head. "Well, you're not gonna hafta worry about cancer, because Trish is going to kill you herself."

Riggs slammed the chair back down on all four legs with a loud thump. "Come on, you're not gonna tell her, are ya?" His expression turned pleading. "I'm a little stressed out here as it is."

Roger managed a half-smile as he chewed on a forkful of eggs. Nobody – not even ex-Special Forces Martin Riggs – wanted to be on the wrong side of Mrs. Murtaugh. "Okay, I guess these are pretty extenuating circumstances. But the minute we are back on the job, you're quitting again."

"Absolutely!"

One of Roger's eyebrows angled downward. "Promise?"

"Promise." Riggs held his hand up, "I swear."

Satisfied, Roger nodded.

Leaning over, Martin grabbed his mug, downing a big swig of coffee. "So… Evanston is dead… What happened?"

"It happened two years ago in Seattle."

"So he had been released from prison."

Roger nodded. "That's right. Had only been out six months… He got shot during a drug deal gone bad."

"Drug deal?" snorted Riggs. "Sounds like another case of prison rehabilitation at its finest." Taking one last drag, he dropped the cigarette butt into his now empty coffee cup. "James may be dead, but that doesn't necessarily mean this is a dead-end."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You said he and his father were very close. Have you looked into what his old man has been up to?"

"Haven't gotten that far yet."

"Well we need to do that right now. Someone with his money and connections could certainly orchestrate something this involved. " Riggs' eyes narrowed. "You recognized the guy in the warehouse from their case. That is no coincidence."

"I don't know," sighed Roger, his voice sounded defeated again. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I just wanted to find something so badly, I imagined it."

"Uh-uh, Rog." Martin shook his head insistently. "Don't start second guessing yourself." He leaned in towards his partner. "You know one of the reasons why I am so good at what I do?"

"Because the criminals would rather be in jail than have to deal with you?"

Riggs paused, his head tilted to one side as if in deep thought. "Hmm…" Lips pursing together, he gave a small nod. "Okay, that may be true…" A grin broke out across his face. "But that's not the reason I am talking about right now." He jabbed a finger into the air for emphasis. "I succeed because I ALWAYS trust my instincts. Never second guess your gut feelings, Rog. Never. Books smarts and training are all good, but intuition is still the best tool – for a soldier or a cop. It's saved my ass a million times over… So what is your instinct telling you?"

"Ah, Riggs, I don't know…" Roger shrugged, still not convinced by his partner's pep talk. "I don't think I have the same kind of relationship with my gut that you have with yours. Besides…how are you sure it's your intuition talking to you and not that pepperoni pizza you had last night?"

Riggs rolled his eyes in frustration. "Come on, Rog… For once in your life, just relax, quit overanalyzing every damn thing and go by your instinct instead of by the book."

"FINE!" barked Roger, one hand slamming down hard against the table. "I feel it has something to do with the Evanston case!"

"Thank _YOU_!" Martin gave a sigh. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now that THAT is settled, we need to work on tracking down dear ole dad. Hey, have we ever heard about an ID for the warehouse guy?"

Roger shook his head. "Nope, and it is starting to get harder and harder to get information now that we are both suspended." A smile suddenly broke across his face. "But I bet you could call the ME and get it for us."

"Me?" Riggs' expression turned perplexed. "Why me? Most people in the Department are a hell of a lot more willing to deal with you than me."

"Yeah, but the good doctor doesn't have a crush on most other people in the Department."

"A crush? She has a crush on me?"

"Damn, Riggs… For someone who just went into a long talk about following your instincts, you can be so clueless." He stared at his partner. "You have never noticed the way she looks at you every time we go in to talk over autopsy reports?"

Martin shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Well, no… I just don't pay attention to that kinda stuff."

"Well trust me, she does." Roger actually found it rather unnerving the way she would give goo-goo eyes to Riggs while she was up to her elbows in some poor slob's chest cavity. Leaning over, he picked up his phone, tossing it to Riggs. "Call her, lover-boy."

For a moment, Martin looked like he was going to protest, but instead he just grumbled under his breath as he punched in the number. "Hello, Dr. Baker? Yeah, hi, this is Sergeant Riggs from RHD. Uh… yeah, of course… Hello, Carla…" Martin's eyes cut over to Rog as he heard the older detective begin laughing to himself. Riggs shot him a look full of daggers as he quickly walked by and out the door to continue the conversation outside. Still laughing, Roger finished up his breakfast and waited for his partner to join him.

Ten minutes later, Riggs walked back into the room, another lit cigarette in hand, and tossed the phone on the workbench.

"Needed some privacy, Riggs?"

"Yeah, it was a little hard to hear her over all your damn laughing." Still scowling, Martin yanked off his jacket, throwing it on the back of his chair.

"Sorry." Roger tried to look contrite, but just couldn't pull it off. It was always gratifying when he wasn't the butt of the joke, especially since it happened so rarely. He cleared his throat but the laugh was still underlining his voice as he asked, "So what did _CARLA_ have to say?"

His irritation momentarily forgotten, Riggs' expression turned serious. "Well, apparently our friend from the warehouse doesn't exist. At least not according to any of the databases we're using."

"Great," muttered Roger, "just more dead-ends."

They sat in silence for a moment, Martin smoking his cigarette while Roger stared at his now empty breakfast plate. Smoke finished, Riggs dropped it into the coffee cup next to the other butt. Looked over at Roger. "Do you remember anything about him that could help us?"

A shrug. "Not really. He was always there but I don't think I ever heard him utter one word." Roger's eyes narrowed in thought. "I do remember thinking at first he was just some hired muscle, but then I quickly got the impression that he was more than that."

"Good to know…" Martin suddenly snapped his fingers. "Oh, jeez, I almost forgot, I DO have some good news."

Roger's head jerked up, a smile coming to his countenance. "Good news? Finally… what is it?"

"The autopsy reports have concluded that Alex Haven wasn't a murder victim. They are gonna rule it suicide." Riggs patted Roger on the shoulder. "That's great, isn't it?"

"Yeah… that's great," sighed Roger, his expression crumbling as he lowered his head into his hands. "Except for the part where my former partner shoots his head off and leaves his wife a widow all because of me."

Martin shook his head, his eyes narrowing in anger at the sound of self-recrimination in his partner's voice. "This is not your fault, Rog. Whoever is behind this – they're the ones who did this. And Haven's death, that's just one more reason we have to get the fuckers."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Riggs mouth was set in a hard line as he turned and grabbed his jacket from the back of the nearby chair. Revenge was as good a motivator as anything – and one he understood well. "You better start on tracking down the dad. I'll be back later."

"Hey, wait a minute," Roger called out as he stood to his feet. "Where are you going?"

Hand still on the doorknob, Riggs looked over his shoulder. "I'm meeting up with MacCaskey and Chu. Murphy managed to get them attached to the warehouse assignment. I'm gonna see if they've found anything useful yet."

"Okay," leaning over, Roger grabbed the two coffee cups and plate. "Let's meet for lunch. How about that new Vietnamese place around the corner… one o'clock."

Riggs glanced at his watch. "Sure." He headed back out the door but then suddenly stopped short. "Shit," he muttered, "almost forgot…"

"Forgot what?" Roger frowned as a new wave of anxiety suddenly washed over him. "Something the Doc said?"

"Nah… more important than that." Stepping over, Martin reached into one of the mugs that Roger held, quickly pulling out the two coffee-stained cigarette filters. He held them up near Roger's face, his blue eyes wide with alarm. "Trish would have seen these!"

Roger just shook his head. "I'll see ya at one," he called out after his partner's receding figure. "Ya BIG WIMP!"


	10. Chapter 10

_Been super busy, but am still plugging away whenever I manage to find time. Thank you to all following along and feel free to leave a review..._

* * *

Pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant, Roger eased the family station wagon into a nearby spot. He was a bit early, but noticed that Riggs' black pickup was already parked near the entrance. Stepping into the building, he paused a moment by the hostess station, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. Riggs was sitting in a back booth, and although deep in conversation with an elderly Asian gentleman, he obviously had noticed Roger – a hand shot up as he waved his partner over.

"Hey, Rog," Martin said as Roger approached, "this is Mr. Thao. He and his wife own the place."

Nodding, Roger reached out and shook the man's hand. "Hello, good to meet you."

Mr. Thao returned the handshake along with a slight bow. "Good to meet you too. Enjoy your meal," he said, his low voice so heavily accented, Roger could barely make out the words. Turning, he leaned over to Martin, murmuring something softly under his breath. Gave them both a smile and quickly left.

Slipping into the booth, Roger watched him walk away before directing his attention back on his partner. "What was that about? You know him?"

Riggs gave a shake of his head as he grabbed a spring roll from the platter already resting on the table, then pushed the food over to Roger. "No, but turns out we do have a mutual friend."

"Hey, didn't you tell me that _**I**_ was your only friend?" teased Roger.

Dipping the roll into a bowl of sauce, Martin gave a half-smile as he took a bite. "You are… But I do have one or two people pop in from time to time. You're just the only one crazy enough to stick around."

"And to think I used to be normal before I met you," sighed Roger.

"Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people. A few more years, and you won't believe the crazy shit you'll be willing to along with…" Riggs handed the menu over. "I already ordered mine."

Roger snatched it out of his hand, grumbling under his breath, "A few more years? I think I'm already there." As soon as the waitress left with Roger's order, he turned back to Riggs. "Well, I hope you're having better luck than me. Did McCaskey and Chu have anything for you?"

"They're still sifting through everything and of course, IA is making it as difficult as possible." Riggs didn't bother trying to keep the contempt out of his voice. "HOWEVER, they did find Dunn's prints at the warehouse."

Roger's hand clenched into a triumphant fist. "Yes! Something finally… I mean that is something, right?"

"It's something," Martin said with a shrug. "Not even close enough to get us back on the force, but I'll take whatever I can get right now." He suddenly gave a disgusted shake of his head. "Dunn's completely dropped off the face of the earth. Doesn't seem to be a trace of him anywhere." He paused for a moment as the waitress set a bowl of soup in front of him. Grabbing a spoon, he took a taste and continued. "Mac Simmons is very quietly talking to others at the precinct. Dunn kept to himself, but ya never know – he may have dropped some sort of information that could help us find him."

"Well, Dunn's not the only one that's dropped off the face of the earth," said Roger. "William Evanston is like a ghost these days – sold his business for millions and vanished… Best anyone can tell, they think maybe he's in Europe somewhere. It's a complete dead-end."

Martin looked up from the food. "Hmm… Europe, huh?" His eyes squinted in thought. "Give me everything you have on William Evanston. I'm gonna run it by some contacts, see what comes up."

Roger gave a shake of his head. "Riggs, I already ran his name through every resource the LAPD has."

"Exactly," Riggs said with a smile, "which is why I'm gonna go outside of the department."

* * *

"Riggs, what in the hell are we doing here?"

Martin made a quick shushing noise. "I told ya," he muttered in a low voice. "We're here to do a drop-off."

"I KNOW what you told me, but that doesn't really explain anything." Frowning, Roger shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket as he leaned in closer to his partner. "That doesn't explain why I am standing at a bus stop in West Hollywood at 4 in the morning to catch the bus."

"Hey, I told you I'd do it myself but, nooo… you had to insist on coming along." Riggs gave a shrug. "This is where he told me to be." He looked away from Roger, eyes focusing on the street ahead. Taking his baseball cap off, he ran a hand through his unruly waves before shoving it back on.

Roger opened his mouth to say something else, but then abruptly shut it, jumping slightly at the sound of sudden footsteps approaching. Looking over one shoulder, he found himself being eyeballed by one of the local hookers. A tranny, she must have stood 6'7" in her pair of towering gold stilettos and bright purple fur coat. She smiled back at Roger as they made eye contact, her tongue running over her lips. "Hi, cutie-pie," she rumbled in a deep voice.

"Uh, yeah… hello."

She walked in a bit closer, hips sashaying dramatically. "You are one fine strapping fellow," she purred. "My name is Stardust."

Ignoring Martin's chuckles, Roger pulled back his jacket to reveal the shield clipped to his shirt pocket. "And I, Stardust, am a police detective."

The hooker just gave a throaty laugh. "Oh, honey, I know you're a police officer. That's practically stamped on your forehead. I'm just having a little fun, that's all." Turning her attention to Riggs, she gave him a wink. "You should tell your friend to lighten up a little."

"I'm trying," Martin said, winking back. "I'm trying. So… Stardust, isn't it? Been a busy night for ya?"

She gave a shrug of her broad shoulders, frowning slightly. "Eh… so-so." Reaching into her purse, Stardust pulled out a pack of smokes and looking back up saw that Martin was already holding out his lighter for her. "What a gentleman," she murmured, her smile returning. Leaning over, she lit the cigarette with a flutter of her false eyelashes in Martin's direction.

"Excuse me – Riggs, can I talk with you for a minute?" Roger gave a tight smile to the hooker as he grabbed Martin by the forearm, dragging him over to the other side of the bus stop. "Would you please forget about Miss Stardust for a moment and answer my question." Roger frowned. "Now tell me why we are standing out here playing at some sort of spy game?"

Riggs just stared over Roger's shoulder without answering. Gave a nod of his head. "Our ride is here." He snapped his fingers as the bus pulled up. "Give me the papers."

Roger stared back at his partner, but seeing the expression in his eyes, knew it was pointless to argue. Sighing, he reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick envelope, handed it over.

"Thanks…" A sudden grin broadened Martin's face. "Hey, Rog… you got any money for fare?"

Grumbling under his breath, Roger entered the bus ahead of Martin, paid for both of them and then sat down in the front as Riggs had instructed him to do earlier. The younger detective went past him, not sitting down until he was in the far back of the bus. Shifting slightly in his seat, Roger heaved a groan as his eyes landed on Stardust sitting behind him. "Hi again, Sugar." She wiggled her fingers at him, trying her best to look coy – something that wasn't very easy to do with a 5 o'clock shadow starting to peek through the heavy makeup.

"Uh… hi."

Twisting around more, Roger did his best to keep Martin in his peripheral vision, watching as Riggs did nothing more than stare out the window from his aisle seat. Despite the early hour, the bus began filling up quickly – mainly more whores and junkies but every now and again, the odd business person would board, heading into work at the early hour of the morning. Several times various people tried to take the seat next to Riggs but were quickly turned away by the glare he shot in their direction.

Three stops later, a group boarded, Roger tensing up even more than he already was as he took in the four gangbangers that were part of the new passengers. He watched them carefully as they went to the back, praying fervently to himself that none of them would try to sit by his partner. Luckily, they all took different seats without incident. Sighing under his breath in relief, Roger turned and quickly straightened back up again as he saw that Martin had slide over to the window seat, letting someone sit next to him. The man, like Riggs, had a baseball cap shoved down low and with his head bent downward, Roger couldn't make out any of his face. _Damn it_… Roger thought. He had been so busy watching as the young punks boarded he had not even noticed the other guy.

Martin continued staring out the window and then at the next stop stood up and headed down the aisle to get off. Roger waited as Martin and another passenger disembarked and then stood up to follow behind them. Before he had a chance to move, a large hand grasped his forearm. "Hey, baby, leaving so soon?"

Nearly growling under his breath, Roger looked down at the still seated hooker. "Yes, this is my stop." He tried unsuccessfully to pull his arm away.

She gripped on even tighter. "Ah, come on, sugar, don't leave so soon…"

Martin was already gone by now and with another jerk, Roger wretched his arm away, just managing to get off the bus before it pulled away, Stardust still calling out to him from behind. Head whipping around, he caught a quick view of Riggs disappearing around a nearby building. He glanced around for a moment, one hand instinctively going up to pat the Smith and Wesson nestled in his shoulder holster, its weight reassuring to him. Roger watched for another moment as the other passenger crossed the street before turning and heading in the direction of his partner. Going around the corner, he saw that Martin was already down at the other end of the building, leaning back, one foot propped up against the wall casually. He gave a nod of his head as Roger approached.

"So? What's going on, Riggs? What happened?"

Martin shrugged. "They've got what you had on William Evanston. We'll see."

"And exactly who is _they_?"

Riggs just shrugged again. "Y' know… they… them." Pushing himself off the wall, Martin clapped his partner on the back. "No more questions right now. I need coffee… It is too damn early in the morning. Let's go."

* * *

"You shouldn't have brought your partner along on the bus, Riggs."

Martin's grip on the phone's receiver tightened slightly. "Yeah, I know… Look, he can be trusted."

The man on the other end of the line laughed, but there was no humor behind it. "You know good and well that trust has nothing to do with anything." His voice lowered. "I don't want us to be enemies here, Riggs. I imagine we both have enough of those already."

Shrugging out of his jacket, Riggs sat down on the couch. "No doubt." He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Don't worry, I have everything under control with my partner."

"Of that, I am quite certain but all the same, you have to make sure he's not around next time. We can't afford the risk. Come on, Martin… you know how these things go down."

"I do."

"Okay, I'll be in touch soon."

"Alright." Disconnecting the phone call, Riggs tossed the receiver aside and pulled off his boots. He needed to clear his head and think. The sun was getting close to setting - time for a good run on the beach – it did the trick nearly every time. Twisting around, he stepped over the back of the couch to the sleeping platform behind it; searched through the jumbled blankets until he found a pair of sweats. He changed quickly into the pants and running shoes, then grabbing the shoulder holster that hung near the door, strapped it on. About the only time he ever used it was for jogging, since the loose sweats wouldn't secure the gun. Years of undercover work had ingrained the habit of carrying his piece mexican style and now he couldn't stand using a holster. Of course, he could always go jogging without a weapon, but that thought simply didn't cross his mind. Riggs never went anywhere without it, including going to sleep. Unlike Roger, who put his weapon away when he wasn't working, Martin always had his with him – for reasons more than just detective work – he was never off-duty. Slipping the gun in place, he threw on a light windbreaker, whistled for Sam and they headed out the door.

* * *

Martin had just gotten out of the shower and was pulling on a pair of jeans when the sound of tires crunching along the rocks outside brought him to full alert. Sam sat up from where he had been sleeping on the couch, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Grabbing his Beretta from the kitchen counter, Riggs went over to one of the trailer's small windows and peered through the blinds. "Damn it," he muttered. _Of all the fucking luck… _Sighing deeply, he let the slats of the blind snap shut as he turned to his still growling dog. "It's okay, Sam. It's just Roger." His partner rarely made the long drive out to his trailer and he was surprised to find him there this morning. And of all mornings to show up… but then sometimes that was just the way Martin's luck went. Now the problem was – how to get rid of him.

Tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans, he drew back the curtain and opened the sliding glass door just as Roger reached the steps. "Morning, Rog. What in the world are you doing all the way out here?"

Roger squinted up at him. "Are you kidding? I haven't heard anything from you in three days! What's going on?"

Martin didn't answer – just gestured for Roger to come in as he turned back into the trailer. He walked to the small kitchen, leaning against the counter as Roger entered behind him. Stepping over to the couch, the older detective bent over, giving Sam a scratch behind the ears, the animal's tail thumping in appreciation. Still petting the dog, Roger used his other hand to move the damp bath towel that had been thrown on the couch; sighed quietly under his breath as he saw the jumbled stack of books and papers underneath. And once again he found himself wondering how in the hell Riggs could live this way – or why. After being shot, Martin had spent part of his rehabilitation living at the Murtaugh's house. When he was finally able to move back out on his own, Roger had tried to convince the man to at least upgrade to an apartment and hopefully something closer in, but his arguments were met with a stony glare. Digging in his heels, Riggs had been adamant about doing nothing other than replacing his camper trailer with another one. And not only that – he had decided on a new spot even further out and more isolated than his previous place. Roger knew it was useless to try and figure out the quirks of his eccentric partner, but he couldn't help trying – even though the only thing he ever accomplished was getting a headache. Setting the towel back down, Roger decided to perch on the edge of the armrest instead. "Ya got any coffee in this... place?"

"Out of regular right now but I've got instant." Riggs filled the kettle with some water and sat it on the burner. Searching through the cabinet next to the stove for a minute, he finally pulled out the jar of coffee, sat it down on the counter and then turned to look back at Roger. Held his hand out. "Hey, toss me that white t-shirt from the back of the couch."

Reaching over, Roger grabbed the tee and threw it to Martin with a scowl. "Are you gonna answer my question?"

Riggs just gave a shake of his head as he wiggled into the shirt. "I told ya, I'd call when I heard something, Rog."

"Okay, fine… But you still haven't explained to me what we were doing the other day. Who did you give those papers to?"

"What difference does it make? Let's just see what information comes back." Martin turned around at the sudden whistling of the kettle. Rinsing out a couple of mugs that were in the sink, he made the coffee and handed a cup to Roger.

Grabbing the mug, Roger cradled it in his hands for a long moment before taking a sip. When he looked back up, his expression was still irritated. "I'm not leaving this trailer until I get some answers. We're partners and you are supposed to trust me!"

"You know I do, Roger. Just remember that works both ways." His mouth setting into a thin line, Martin snatched the button-down shirt that had been hanging over the back of the nearby chair and quickly put it on. Muttering under his breath, he rubbed his hands over his face as he worked to calm himself back down. He took a big swig of coffee then sat there for a minute, his thumb running across the chipped edge of the mug. "Why do you have to question me about this?" he asked.

"I…" began Roger before stopping to consider his answer. He shrugged. "Of course I trust you. It's just that sometimes…" his voice trailed off.

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes you don't … approach things in the best way."

"I do whatever it takes."

"Damn it, Riggs! The end doesn't always justify the means! We are walking a very fine line here. Shit, I want to get back on the force and if you're doing something …" Roger frowned. "Who are these people you're dealing with? Is it all legal?"

"Legal?" One of Martin's eyebrows arched upward in amusement. "Well, I guess that depends on who you're talking to."

Leaning forward, Roger cradled his head in his hands. "Ahh, Christ, Riggs…"

A slight smile flickered across Martin's face. Finishing his coffee, he put the mug back in the sink. "Quit worrying so much – you should work on reducing your stress levels."

"My stress levels were fine before I met you."

"Well sure, back then the most exciting thing you had going on was trying to figure out what Trish had in the oven."

Despite his grumpy mood, even Roger had to laugh. "Yeah, but you gotta admit, some days that does take serious detective work."

"Very true," agreed Riggs. Glancing at his watch, he ran a hand through his still wet hair. "Sorry to cut this short but I've got errands."

"Errands?" Roger frowned. "What kind of errands could you possibly have?"

Pushing himself off from where he had been leaning on the kitchen counter, Martin stepped over to his partner. "Errands," he repeated as he took the coffee cup out of Roger's hands. "I _do_ have errands that I do, y' know. It's laundry time."

Roger's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Trish does your laundry."

"Hey, only my shirts!" Riggs looked insulted. "I still go to the laundromat. And obviously I need to get more coffee… and I'm sure I'm outta beer … oh, and a flyswatter," he added with a snap of his fingers. "Damn fly was buzzing around here last night, I couldn't sleep at all." Which was actually the truth – in fact, Riggs had been sorely tempted at one point to try and shoot the fucker with his Beretta.

Roger gave a hard shake of his head as he watched Martin set the other cup in the sink. "This has to do with what we did the other day, doesn't it?"

"Don't worry about it."

Still frowning, Roger rose up from his spot on the couch's arm rest. "Fine. You'll call me, right?"

"Yea, yea, I'll be in touch." He practically pushed his reluctant partner out the trailer. "Shit," he muttered, as he leaned against the closed door, his breath escaping in a long heavy sigh. _Why did it have to be so damn difficult… _The sound of Roger's car starting roused him out of his thoughts and he turned around to watch as Roger backed up his vehicle and then headed out for the main road. Martin glanced at his watch again. Okay, just enough time to make it and be a little early – at least it was enough time when you drove like he did.

Sitting on the couch, he quickly pulled on his boots, grabbed a couple extra clips from the nearby table and headed out the door.

* * *

After having been on the road for 20 minutes, Martin could no longer ignore the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. Adjusting the rear view mirror, he stared back at the traffic behind him. Certainly nothing seemed amiss but he continued to scan the vehicles with sharp eyes. Frowning to himself, he switched lanes; glanced behind him. Although once again, everything looked fine, instinctively he knew better – he was being tailed. He was sure of it.

Taking his attention back to the road ahead, he passed the car in front of him and then moved back over to the other lane. Staying at the speed limit, Riggs continued down the road for another couple of miles, before making a sudden right hand turn. The road he had turned on headed far up into the nearby hills and shifting gears, Riggs floored the pick-up truck, shoving the gas pedal all the way down. The big engine roared to life and shot up the steep incline, leaving the other vehicles off into the distance. He continued to look out the rear view mirror at any cars turning onto the canyon road. Reaching the top of the hill, he had a good vantage point to watch the other vehicles coming up behind him without his view being obstructed. A frustrated glare clouded his eyes as Roger's vehicle made the right hand turn off of the main road. Martin was being tailed alright … by his own partner.

The frown slid away as he shrugged to himself, it certainly could have been worse. At least Roger was one of the good guys and although Martin understood why he was doing it, he still needed to get rid of him. Luckily, this was Martin's home field and he knew it like the back of his hand, unlike Roger. Continuing up the road, Riggs glanced around then smiled to himself. The road he was driving on began to slope back down a bit with a sharp incline boxing him in on the left side where the road had been cut into the hill. Running along the top of the incline was another road running in the opposite, heading back down the mountain. Martin looked over, eyes narrowed in thought. It wouldn't be an easy maneuver but Martin had faith in his pick-up truck.

With a wide grin, he punched the engine again, jerking the wheel hard to the left. The car directly behind him swerved, no doubt startled by the big truck's sudden off-road adventure. Tires spinning wildly, the truck crawled up the steep slope, rocks and dirt spitting out behind him. Martin nearly lost control a couple of times as the wheel jerked underneath his hands but managed to make it up to the top and eased into the breakdown lane of the upper road, cars honking furiously at him.

Looking back down below, he saw that Roger had pulled the station wagon over. There was no way he would be able to get his car up the embankment and by the time he doubled back, he knew Riggs would be long gone. He frowned in defeat as his eyes connected with Martin's. Smiling, Riggs gave his partner a big wave and pulled onto the road and drove away.


	11. Chapter 11

Finally I have been able to update this! Thank you to anyone still hanging around to read and sorry I am such a slow poke. LOL. Thank you to all who have left reviews as I appreciate the feedback.

**** Oops. I realized I had put up the wrong edition - no real changes, just a few additional sentences but it bugged me, so I had to update again. :) *****

* * *

There was no need to be worried about his safety, and Riggs was long past ever being afraid of shadows, but all the same, his senses were on heightened alert as he made his way through the darkened interior of the building. He went past the elevator, instead slipping quietly into the nearby stairwell. Taking the stairs two at a time, he quickly reached the third floor. Riggs poked his head out to scan the corridor, saw no one and stepped out onto the carpeted hallway. It wasn't even a case of him being someplace that he wasn't supposed to be, but all the same, it made him feel better if no one were to see him there. Going down to the last door at the back of the building, he retrieved a key from his front jeans pocket and inserted it into the lock. Riggs sighed faintly under his breath as he pushed the door open. If Roger knew what he was doing, he'd probably try to kill him … or even worse, lecture him - no doubt a fate worse than death.

The door swung open into an office, the large room divided into smaller cubicles. Despite the good amount of sunlight coming through the bank of windows along one side, Martin still found the place off-putting, although he couldn't quite put his finger on the reason why. It was a Sunday and the place appeared to be deserted of any workers. Riggs weaved through the mass of desks, each decorated in its own personal way, funny calendars, family photos, limp houseplants, pens and pencils left on the desktops but the whole place gave him an eerie feeling - as if just ten minutes ago the room had been filled with busy employees who had suddenly been yanked up to Heaven for the Rapture. If that were the case, Riggs, of course, was not surprised to find himself left behind. Reaching the last row of cubicles, he entered into another hallway. The offices back here obviously belonged to a more important tier of people since they were constructed from actual walls rather than flimsy partitions. All the same, it was as quiet and creepy as the front room, but down the left side, a small circle of light spilled out from underneath a closed door, faintly illuminating the corridor.

Walking down the hall, he stopped in front of the lit room and knocked gently on the door.

"Come in."

Riggs pushed the door open, stepping into a small office. A man was seated at the desk, a nondescript individual with thinning brown hair and rumpled work shirt and tie. "Right on time," he murmured, not even bothering to look up from where he was typing away into the computer.

Riggs shrugged. "I have few redeeming qualities, but I do keep my word."

"That is good to know."

Still not bothering to look up, the man bent over and pulled a thick sealed folder from a drawer down below. He put it on the desktop along with some larger papers that had been rolled up and rubber banded together. Picking up the rolled papers, he finally locked eyes with Riggs as he held them out, gesturing for the detective to take them. Riggs stepped over to the desk and took the papers, his own eyes staring intently at the other man for a moment, quickly memorizing his sharp features. He knew better than to be fooled into letting his guard down by the man's somewhat mousey exterior - never judge a book by its cover. Riggs suddenly pointed to the thick folder. "For me as well?"

The man behind the desk smiled – a gesture that did nothing to warm his countenance. Nodding his head, he held the other item out. Reaching over, Martin grabbed the folder, sighing deeply when the man refused to relinquish the grip he held on the other end. "You know the arrangement, Riggs."

His blue eyes narrowed into slits. "Yeah, yeah," he growled, "of course. Quid pro quo." He yanked harder and this time the folder was freed. Riggs quickly shoved it into his knapsack, along with the other papers. "Can't you guys just do something out of the kindness of your hearts?" His voice was sarcastic.

The other man just smiled again in response. "We'll be in touch."

"Can't wait."

* * *

Martin pulled his pickup in front of the Murtaugh residence, his brow wrinkling in confusion when he noticed that there were no vehicles in the driveway. He wasn't surprised to see Trish's station wagon gone since she often went out early to take care of things while the kids were at school, but not seeing Roger's car there made the detective suddenly very nervous. It was early morning - certainly early enough that on normal days Roger would still be growling like a grumpy bear, scarcely awake and sucking down copious amounts of tar black coffee at the kitchen table. It was a running joke between the partners, Riggs always beating Roger into the squad room every morning, even on the days when he was fueled by nothing more than bourbon and cigarettes.

_Where in the hell could he be? Did something happen to his case? Did Murphy call him in? Surely Roger would have phoned to let him know if something was up … Right? … Or what if IA had come to arrest him in the middle of the night… no, no, Trish would have gotten in touch with him … Or … or what if the fuckers who seemed intent on destroying him were finishing the job…_

Martin's instincts were almost always right on the money and although he wasn't getting that unexplainable gut feeling that he usually did when something was amiss, it didn't alleviate his tension one bit. Instead he pulled his gun, double checked the clip and quietly exited the truck. Quiet as a whisper, he made his way to the front door where he tried the knob. Locked. Riggs' head suddenly swiveled to the right, his attention focused on a shuffling noise coming from the side of Roger's house. Beretta cocked, he pushed himself against the structure and crept along the edge until reaching the corner. Without hesitation, he threw himself forward, the barrel of his gun landing barely an inch away from Roger's startled face.

"Shit!" The older detective dropped the bags of trash he had been holding in each hand, his expression tensing up into a deep set frown.

Martin's eyes widened slightly as his hand swung away. "Sorry, Rog," he said with a shrug of his shoulders; his expression a bit sheepish looking as he quickly decocked the Beretta.

"Sorry!" Bending over, Roger retrieved the bags of trash, muttering under his breath but Martin still could catch a word here and there… "… crazy … I swear if … gonna one day … heart … good thing I … " Still muttering, he stomped his way up the drive, his head suddenly turning. "Damn it, Riggs! Put that gun away before a neighbor sees ya."

Martin shoved the weapon back out of sight under his lightweight jacket. "Hell, Rog, after everything that's happened at your house, if the neighbors association hasn't kicked you out yet, I don't think nobody's gonna be too concerned about me and my gun."

"You're probably right." Roger sighed deeply. "Crap, I need more coffee." He dumped the bags into the trashcan at the end of the driveway then turned to face his partner. "What's up with you anyway?"

"Nothing."

He regarded Riggs for a moment with a critical eye. "Bullshit."

"Like I said, it's nothing. I … guess I'm just a little jumpy this morning, that's all." Truth be told, after his last clandestine meeting yesterday, he was beyond a little jumpy but there was no need to drag Roger into that mess. Running a hand through his hair, he gestured sharply in front of them. "The cars weren't here. It got me a little worried."

"The station wagon needs a tune-up, so we drove it to the mechanic yesterday. Trish took the other car to run errands this morning." Roger motioned for Riggs to follow him as he headed back around to the unlocked side door. "Quit being so paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid," the younger man muttered defensively. "I'm just … very, very alert. There's a difference. Besides, it helps to keep me alive." Giving a slight shake of his head, Martin jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be right back. Gotta get some stuff out of my truck. I'll meet ya inside." Roger just nodded in response and headed back into the house.

When Riggs came back in Roger was standing by the sink, munching on a piece of buttered toast, a mug of coffee in the other hand. He watched silently as Riggs went over to the kitchen table, his eyebrows shooting upward questioningly as the other man dumped some rolled up papers and his knapsack onto the wooden top. Turning to face his partner, Martin swept an arm over the mess. "Say hello to Harold Jennings Cooper."

"Who?"

Martin grinned widely. "The shithead formerly known as William Evanston."

"So your contacts found him?" Roger asked, his own grin now matching Riggs'.

"Yep." Riggs rummaged around his knapsack, pulling out a large manila folder. Opening it up, he picked up the top sheet and handed it to Roger.

Taking a last bite of toast, he looked it over and gave a nod of his head as he handed it back. "That's him alright. Looks a bit different … older of course, but it's him."

Riggs nodded back as he spread the contents of the folder out across the table. "He's been going by the name Harold Cooper for about seven years now, and keeping way under the radar. He uses his own resources to get in and out of the country so authorities have a hard time getting a bead on him." He glanced over at Roger. "Did you do any looking into the father's background?"

"No, there was really no need." Roger shrugged. "The case was against his son and it was pretty cut and dry."

"Too bad. You missed the chance to land a big fish."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's not as easy to disappear as some people think. There's a reason he was so efficient at it - he's done it before. Authorities have been shadowing this Evanston guy for years… They have no concrete evidence for anything, never can catch him at anything but he's been fingered as a major arms dealer."

"Shit! An arms dealer?" Roger frowned. "Son of a bitch …"

"You really picked a good one to piss off."

"Just my luck."

"Yeah… and I thought mine was shitty."

His frown growing deeper, Roger rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Why go to all this trouble? All that money and resources at his disposal, why not just kill me?"

"For one thing, a murdered detective is going to cause the department to launch a massive investigation - a lot more chances of him being found out… " Martin's voice trailed off momentarily, his expression turning thoughtful. "But, even more than that, I think his motivation is that that would be too quick. This is personal, Rog. He wants you to suffer. And what could be a better plan?" Sitting down, Riggs leaned back in the chair, balancing on the back two legs, one of his hands waving casually in his partner's direction. "First, he ruins your reputation, knowing how much that would affect you … he gets you kicked off the force - kicked off the job that you take such pride in - and in the process taking away any pension and benefits that would help your family, leaving them to twist in the wind … and then finally getting you tossed into prison." Riggs shook his head as he suddenly slammed the chair back down and leaned over to shuffle through the papers in front of him. "And we all know what prison is like for an ex-cop. If, by some miracle, you don't end up with a shiv in your neck by the end of the first month, it would be easy enough to find a prisoner willing to do the job. Certainly wouldn't raise any suspicion like a hit in the outside world would. You're dead and no one is ever the wiser."

Roger rolled his eyes, trying to shove down the panicked feeling that was twisting his stomach into knots. "Thanks, Martin," he replied sarcastically, "I feel so much better now."

Riggs glanced up at his partner, a slightly uncomfortable look coming to his face as he noticed the dread underlining Roger's voice. He certainly hadn't meant to cause more worry for Roger, but he'd always been the kind of person to just call it as it was. _Maybe one day, he'd learn how to self-censure his mouth… oh, who was he kidding? That would never happen._ He grinned reassuringly. "It's obviously well-thought out, but that doesn't mean it's foolproof. Every armor has a chink, every plan has a hole. We just have to find it."

"Of course the problem with that philosophy is that any plan we come up with will have a hole too."

Riggs shrugged. "It's an imperfect world, Rog."

Roger didn't have an answer for that. Instead he stared at Riggs for a long moment before a ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Still smiling, he gave a shake of his head and sat down at the table across from the other detective, gesturing at the papers. "So… what have we got here?"

"Mostly stacks of mind numbing crap… There's no record of him entering the States recently, but he's got an number of safe houses scattered around and I'll guarantee he's at one of them."

Roger gathered some of the papers up to start reading. "Where's the closest one?" he asked.

Riggs grinned. "Vegas, baby." His grin widened. "What do you think about a little road trip? Hit the tables … play a little blackjack…"

"I'm not a gambling man. You should know that, Riggs."

"Fine, we'll take in a show too." He gave another big grin. "Check out some of them leggy chorus girls."

"Why? Are you looking for a date?"

"What?" Riggs stared at his partner, his expression creasing into a frown. "No…" Muttering under his breath, Martin unrolled a piece of nearby paper, trying his best to hold down the curled edges. Leaning over the table, Roger realized the paper was a map. He followed the direction of Riggs' finger as he pointed to a spot circled in red. "That's the house in Vegas. I've got more maps along with a set up of the house…" He thumbed through the folder, "… here are some surveillance photos too. Should come in handy."

Roger stared at the pictures, his brows arching upward in surprise at the amount of information in front of him. Stretching out with a loud yawn, Riggs got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I'll leave it all here for you to go over - I was up all night looking at it." He stifled another yawn as he leaned up against the kitchen counter. "I feel like my eyeballs have been coated in breadcrumbs and deep fried." Taking a sip, he gestured towards Roger. "After you've finished with it, we'll get together - figure out what to do next."

Roger nodded his head, frowning again as he gathered the papers up. "How did you get all of this?"

"Don't ask."

"You don't get this kind of stuff for free. What did this cost you?"

Giving a casual shrug, Martin said, "Don't worry, Rog, it's fine. I'll deal with the price."

Roger gave a shake of his head. He had always been perplexed by his partner's financial situation. He had a good ballpark idea of what Riggs' salary was - it was decent enough, not enough to make one rich, of course, but it was okay. As far as he could tell, Riggs didn't appear to have any costs other than regular immediate living expenses, and there was no family to support, but yet it was as if he hardly had money, living in a dumpy travel trailer as he did and wearing the same couple of outfits day in and day out. He knew part of it was simply that Riggs didn't seem to have any use or desire for material things - other than his truck - and maybe Riggs had money stashed aside, but he didn't really strike Roger as the kind of guy with a savings account. He just didn't know where in the hell it went. Shaking his head again for emphasis, he stared at Riggs, his mouth set in a determined line. "Martin, this is about me. You shouldn't have to do that. I'll help you."

Riggs blew his breath out in a long sigh. "I said it's okay, don't worry about it … so don't worry about it."

The tone of his voice left no doubt that Riggs was getting irritated by the conversation, but Roger pressed forward anyway. Martin wasn't the only stubborn one around. "Of course I worry… it's what I do. Look the last thing I need is to find out you're gonna hafta live on the streets because you spent everything to get this." He gave a laugh, hoping to lighten the situation. "Besides, Trish would demand that we take you in and I've already got enough mouths to feed around here." Leaning over the table, he rested his elbows against the top, hands tented together, then pointed both forefingers in Martin's direction. "So … you have to let me help."

Riggs didn't say anything, just put his coffee cup in the dishwasher and walked over to the table to pick up his knapsack. Throwing it over one shoulder, he gave Roger a pat on the back. "You can't, Rog. It didn't cost me money."

Martin's answer didn't make Roger feel any better, or alleviate the guilt he was currently feeling about the whole mess - in fact it made him feel even worse. "Then what did it cost you?"

"Call me when you've gone over everything," Riggs said breezily over his shoulder as he went out the kitchen door. "See ya later." And with that the door slammed shut and Riggs was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Wow - another update. I'm on a roll! LOL. Thanks for reading and feel free to let me know what you think!

* * *

Roger Murtaugh always knew that he was one of the lucky ones. Twenty seven years of marriage and he loved his wife more every day. Sure they had had their share of ups and downs, what couple didn't? … but their temperaments were well suited for one enough - both of them by nature, calm and even-keeled people. And even when the arguments did crop up, no matter how angry they got, they never lost sight of their love for each other. The fact that they rarely fought or even disagreed made it that much harder for Roger to look at Trish's tear streaked face.

They had argued much of the night, voices kept low so as not to disturb Carrie and Nick, but a heated argument none the less. Now a defeated Trish sat in the corner chair of their master bedroom, watching silently, arms folded across her chest as Roger stood by the bed, packing an overnight bag. Trish had wanted Roger and Martin to go to the police department with the information that they had, while Roger had tried to explain to her that there was simply nothing that LAPD could or would do at this point … and round and round the circle they went until they finally ended up where they were now.

Roger shoved an extra pair of shoes in the bag and looked back up at his wife, sighing deeply at the distraught expression still stretched tightly across her face. He tried to give her a smile. "Honey, we don't even know if he'll be there," he said in an effort to reassure her. Trish didn't reply, only drawing her arms closer around her chest as if suddenly cold. His own smile faltering, Roger went over to her, kneeled down in front of the chair and reached out, prying her hands loose so that he could grasp them. "You have to believe me that this is the best way." His tone sounded close to pleading but Trish did nothing more than look away. He squeezed her hands tightly and after another minute asked in a quiet voice, "Honey, do you remember when Rianne was kidnapped?"

Trish's head turned around to face her husband, her big brown eyes focused on him. "Of course I do," she whispered, a deep shudder coursing through her at the memory.

Roger gave a small nod of his head. "If I had gone to the department then, Rianne wouldn't be alive today. I firmly believe that. The only thing that saved her was me and Martin going in on our own… You have to understand that sometimes the department can't help." He stared deeply into her eyes as he continued. "I'm not like Martin. He relishes going outside the system, he thrives on it … but if I thought we could do this by going through the proper channels, I would …" He squeezed her hands again. "You know that, honey."

Although there was a part of Trish that knew her husband was probably right, try as she might she was having a difficult time bringing herself to accept it. All she could see was that once again her stubborn husband and his bone headed partner were going to go off on their own and she couldn't help but feel that soon enough they would tempt fate one time too many. The whole South African fiasco had nearly been the final straw for her, and although she had never voiced her thoughts, Trish had been hopeful that after sitting through what seemed like an endless line of funerals and memorial services, after watching his best friend almost die, that maybe Roger would finally be ready to quit. Instead it seemed to energize him, the circumstances making him determined to help in rebuilding the unit, to work at getting Martin back on the force, to catch as many bad guys as possible. Somehow she had managed to keep smiling - had come to grips with the fact that Roger wasn't going to be leaving the department any time soon … but it was hard being married to a cop, watching them go out the door every morning, knowing that there was a much higher risk of them never coming back again. Through all their years together, Trish had never shown Roger just how much she actually worried ; she knew it would only add to the burden and she didn't want his concentration to be on anything other than the job. The closer, however, that Roger crept towards retirement, the harder it was for her to contain those feelings.

Suddenly both of their heads jerked around towards the hallway as the sound of Martin's voice drifted through the quiet household. "Hey, Rog… Trish …?"

Giving a thin smile, Trish brought her hands up to her face, brushing the tears away as best she could. "Finish up here," she murmured, "I'll go down." Roger nodded as he watched his wife head out the bedroom.

Standing in the hall, Trish took a moment to try and compose herself and then headed down to find Martin standing at the bottom of the stairs by the front door. He gave a big smile but his happy expression crumbled a bit at the sight of her. It was immediately obvious that she had been crying a lot; Riggs, of course, had a good idea of why but decided it would probably be best not to say anything - at least for the moment. He managed to keep his grin in place as Trish smiled back and then swept past him into the kitchen. Without a word, Riggs followed her, watching quietly as she pulled a couple of large thermoses from a cabinet. "Roger will be down in just a minute, he's finishing packing." Martin nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. He felt like a horrible shit, that this was his fault somehow but he didn't have a clue how to rectify the situation. Grabbing the coffee pot, Trish filled the two thermoses and then handed one to Martin. "I made extra coffee to start you two off on the trip."

"Thanks." He stared down at the thermos for a long moment, fingers tapping rapidly along the side of it in a fit of nervous energy before finally looking back up as Trish started to busy herself with the nearby dirty dishes. After another minute, he took a deep breath. "Trish, I wa-" He stopped in mid sentence as she suddenly turned to him, one hand raised in a shushing gesture.

"Don't say anything, Martin," she said in an even voice, her expression calm, but there was no questioning the pain in her eyes. "I've already heard it all." Lips pressing together into a tight line, she turned back to the sink, attacking the dishes with a fierceness that belied her smooth exterior.

Martin frowned. As was his nature, he had been eager for them to track down Evanston, to take the fight to him rather than sitting around on their asses waiting for the man's next move, but had he really given enough thought to how it would affect Trish? Probably not, and he felt terrible about it. In all the time that he had known the Murtaugh's he had never told them just how much they had done for him - he didn't think he could even put it into words. All he knew was that being around them, being able to interact - if even a little - with a happy, well-adjusted family was the lifeline that somehow kept him from going over the brink into total self-destruction. This fact had made him fiercely protective of all of them and he would gladly take a bullet if it meant preserving the family and sparing Trish the grief that he felt. Putting the thermos down on the kitchen table, he quickly walked over to Trish and reached over to squeeze her shoulder. "I promise that I'll make sure Roger doesn't get hurt."

Trish didn't move for a moment, then slowly turned to pin Riggs with a hard stare. "How can you say that, Martin?" Her voice was still calm but the fear in her eyes had now spread to her entire face. She gave a shake of her head. "I know you are one of the best at what you do, but you can't control all of the circumstances. How do you think you can promise me that?"

Unable to come up with anything to say, Riggs just stared back at Trish, feeling even worse with every passing second. She was right, of course … Despite the information they had, Riggs couldn't be sure of what they were getting into or how it would all go down … how could he promise such a thing? Shoulders sagging downward, he suddenly realized what empty words they seemed to be. Despite his willingness to throw himself in front of Roger if need be, he wouldn't necessarily be at the man's side all the time … He couldn't guarantee that Roger wouldn't get hurt or even worse … Shit … at the end of the day, he hadn't even been able to protect Vicky and Rika. Riggs nodded slowly. "You're right, Trish. I can't promise that. But we're not going in completely blind, there are things I can predict … prepare for … and," he added with emphasis, "I _can _promise that I will do everything within my considerable abilities to keep Roger safe."

Trish smiled weakly. "And you too?"

Riggs smiled back. "And me too."

"That," sighed Trish as she gave the detective a hug, "I guess I can live with."

Planting a kiss on the top of her head, Riggs grabbed his coffee from the table and opened the side door. "Tell Rog I'll meet him in the truck," he said quietly as he left, wanting to make sure Trish and Roger could say their goodbyes in private.

* * *

The ride to Las Vegas had been unusually quiet for the two detectives, each of them deep in their own private thoughts and weighed down by the situation that they had found themselves ensnared in. Roger didn't even argue when Riggs suddenly turned off the highway to take his special "shortcut". A shortcut which, of course, took them onto a ridiculously narrow, poorly maintained road that twisted through the hills like a roller coaster. This was something that would normally drive the older detective crazy but he found himself grateful for the diversion. Instead of worrying about his family and what would happen if he lost his job or even worse, was thrown into jail, he passed the rest of the trip fervently praying for a safe landing in Vegas.

* * *

While Martin checked them into the fleabag motel he had picked out, Roger went ahead and took his bags up to their room. Ignoring the drug deal going down in the hallway, he opened the door and went in, depositing his luggage onto one of the single beds. He grimaced as a thick cloud of dust billowed up into the air, but he was too tired at the moment to care. At least his immediate prayers for the journey had been answered and for that he was grateful. Yawning, he went into the small bathroom to use the toilet. After he was finished, he tried to turn on the water only to have the hot water handle break. Grumbling under his breath, Roger wiped his hands on his pants as he couldn't find a towel, his head suddenly jerking up at the sound of the door opening. He peered around the corner to see Riggs enter the room and throw his bags down on the other bed. "Hey, Riggs," he called out.

"What?" Riggs plopped down on the small bed, glancing up at his partner just in time for one of his hands to quickly come up and snag the object that Roger threw at him.

Looking down, he spread his fingers out to find the broken faucet handle resting in his palm as Roger muttered, "Nice shithole ya picked out."

"What? It's not too bad … kinda reminds me of my place."

"Exactly."

Riggs just rolled his eyes as he tossed the handle aside and laid his Beretta on the wobbly nightstand that was nestled between the two beds. Yawning, he stretched out on top of the faded bedcovers, tucking an arm under his head. "Well, we sure couldn't go check in at Caesar's Palace now could we? All those cameras and security…" He kicked at one of the bags resting on the foot of the bed with a booted toe. "I sure as hell wouldn't want to get caught with my arsenal here. Shit we don't have badges or IDs anymore to back us up." He chuckled. "Not that that ever stopped us anyway."

"No kidding." Roger stepped back towards the beds but then suddenly jumped to one side, obviously startled, his gaze falling downward. "Whoa! Shit!"

"What?" Riggs jerked back up from where he had been resting, one hand swooping over to grab his nearby weapon.

"Man, I saw something scurry under the table! I swear to god, I think it was a rat."

Sighing, Riggs just kicked off his boots and laid back down on top of the bed. "I don't worry about those kinds of rodents," he muttered with a wave of his Beretta. "It's the human rats you have to watch out for."

Roger looked unconvinced but he did nothing else other than give a shake of his head. "I guess I'm too beat to worry about it anyhow."

"It's been a long couple of days. We should try and get some rest and head out first thing tomorrow."

Roger nodded in agreement, but his expression looked distracted. He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. "Uhm… look, I'm gonna step out to make a phone call, let Trish know we're here."

As was his deeply ingrained habit, Riggs slipped the gun under his pillow for fast access while sleeping then looked up at his partner, a slight frown clouding his face. "She's pretty upset, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

Roger's shoulders hitched upward. "This was my decision too. She thinks we should have gone to Captain Murphy. It's hard for her to understand why we didn't. She's worried." He sighed. "Anyway, I'll be back in a bit."

"Okay." Riggs watched Roger leave then rolled over, frown still firmly held in place. He punched the pillow a couple of times, trying in vain to arrange the lumps in a way that was comfortable, gave up and sat back up with a groan. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep - all he could see was the panicked look in Trish's eyes from earlier in the day. The promise he made was still echoing in his head as he reached over to open his faded brown leather knapsack. Pulling out some papers, he spread them over the bed, studying the layout of Evanston's house and the surrounding area in an effort to ensure he hadn't missed anything, trying to come up with at least a semblance of a plan if the man they were hunting turned up to be there. And that was the way Roger found him later on when he finally made his way back to their room.

* * *

"I don't know Riggs … looks like maybe this is a dead end."

Riggs gave a hard shake of his head. "No, I got a feeling, Rog."

"You and your feelings," his partner groused back. Riggs just grinned as he popped another potato chip into his mouth. Reaching over, Roger stuck his hand into the snack bag. "This can't be good for my cholesterol level. Didn't you bring anything healthy to eat?"

"We're on a stake out, Cochise. Cops don't eat healthy on a stake out." He shook the bag at Roger, eyebrows wiggling. "Enjoy it … Come on, have some more. I know Trish doesn't let you eat them at the house."

Unable to resist, Roger grabbed another handful of the greasy snack food then turned his focus back on their target. "This sure doesn't look like a house belonging to an international arms dealer. Are you sure your information is right?"

"Trust me, it's right. After he went underground, Evanston has made sure to lay very low." Riggs gestured out in front of them with one hand. "He's good at blending in with everyone else."

"No shit. He could be one of my neighbors." Evanston's large house was situated in a quiet upper middle-class enclave, the simple but pristine large two story home nestled in the middle of a wide neighborhood avenue lined on both sides with olive trees.

"Yeah," Riggs murmured softly in agreement. "Just one of the many reasons I prefer not have to have neighbors." He handed the bag of chips to Roger and then reaching over, grabbed the binoculars next to him, casing the area for the umpteenth time. So far they had spent a day and a half waiting and watching, set up behind some dumpsters on a nearby lot with a home in the beginning stages of construction. Leaving Martin's pickup behind at the motel, they had rented a work van which fit in just fine on the building site and as a bonus, offered a lot more comfort than the truck. All the same, Roger's ass had gone to sleep about twenty-four hours ago and he was ready for something - anything to happen. As if reading his mind, Riggs suddenly set the binoculars aside, exclaiming loudly, "That's it, I'm going in."

"What?" Roger gave a shake of his head as he finished the last of the potato chips and crumbled up the bag, tossing it into a nearby empty paper sack. "No way, no how, Riggs. You are not going into that house."

"Why not? Nobody's there, I've got a layout of the place. Besides, we're running out of time. Tomorrow is Monday which means the construction crew is probably gonna be back working here." Riggs frowned as he peered out the van window. "We'd have to move and there's no place else around good for a stake-out. We need to get in that house to check it out." He gave a hard stare in Roger's direction. "We're running out of time," he repeated.

"We're in the middle of a neighborhood, Riggs. What are you going to do? Just walk up in broad daylight and bust down the front door? We'll have the local units here in a heartbeat."

Frowning in frustration, Riggs turned his glare back out the van, blue eyes focused intently on the house. He finally sighed. "Okay," he muttered, "but the minute it's dark, I'm going in."

"Fine." Roger hid his smile behind one hand. Anytime he managed to talk Riggs out of one of his impulsive moves, no matter how small, he considered it a victory. Of course he kept such thoughts to himself, knowing full well Riggs would probably be loathe to admit to any calming influences Roger may have had on him. In the end, Roger just always let Riggs think it was all his idea - it was easier that way.

Still hungry, Roger got up, trying unsuccessfully to stretch out the painful kinks that had knotted up in his back_… Too damn old for this_ … He went to the back of the van and began searching through the grocery sacks … soda cans, Twinkie's, chips … What in the hell had he been thinking in having Riggs get the food? Continuing through the junk, his head gave a sudden startled jerk as he saw some apples at the bottom. Damn, maybe he and Trish really were having a good influence on the man. Roger grabbed an apple and was about to take a bite when he hesitated - one eye staring balefully at the fruit. Martin was right; he had to eat enough of this shit at home. Tossing the apple back into the bag, Roger grabbed the bag of chips and tore it open with relish. Riggs looked over as his partner slid back into the front seat, one eyebrow cocking high as he took in the snack food. "I don't want to hear a word, Riggs."

Silent, Riggs held his hands up, palms facing outward in a gesture of surrender, but he chuckled under his breath as he leaned back in the seat, dirty boots propped up on the dashboard. His laughter suddenly stopped, feet slamming back down to the floorboard. "Someone just pulled in the driveway," he hissed urgently. "Get the binoculars."

Tossing the chips over to Martin, Roger grabbed the binoculars and leaned forward, waiting silently for the person to get out of the car. After another minute, a figure slid out but all Roger could see was the back of his head. "Come on," he muttered, "turn around you son-of-a-bitch." As if on cue, the man looked over one shoulder, surveying the neighborhood before turning back to Evanston's house. Roger let out the breath he had been holding. "It's Dunn."

"Well, well… our long lost patrolman has crawled out of hiding and look at where he shows up." Grinning, Riggs patted the gun that was tucked into the beltline of his jeans.

"So I was right," muttered Roger. "This has to do with Evanston's case."

"Of course you were right and now it's time to finish this." Riggs leaned over to tap Roger on the arm. "Let's go, Rog."

"What's the plan?"

"I say we start with a pleasant conversation, give Dunn a chance to come clean … and if he doesn't, I start putting holes in 'im starting from the feet up."

"Riggs…"

"Alright, alright." Martin gave an eye roll. "All I can say, is one way or another, he's gonna do some 'splaining, Lucy." Suddenly he straightened up. "Shit, he's already on the move."

"Follow him, Riggs!" Roger exclaimed in an urgent voice.

"Don't worry, I'm on it!" Starting up the van, Riggs waited until Dunn's vehicle was almost out of sight before pulling out and they set out after him.


End file.
